Run
by skygirl55
Summary: Wrongly accused of two murders he didn't commit, Richard Castle escapes police custody in hopes of proving his own innocence. FBI Agent Kate Beckett is on the team assigned to bring him in, but as the bizarre evidence stacks up, she begins to question his guilt-particularly after meeting him face-to-face. AU. 2014 Ficathon Entry
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: First, I need to give credit for this story idea to a Tumblr post by castleramblings. Also, credit for the cover art goes to dtrekker._

_I really loved writing this story, and I hope you all enjoy it too. There are 16 chapters._

* * *

**One**

"Okay, Mr. Castle, let's go through this one more time."

With a moan, Richard Castle lowered his head to the cool, steel table and rested his forehead against the smooth surface. He laced his fingers together and moved his clasped hands to rest atop his head, but before they were fully seated, he felt resistance. Oh right, he remembered mournfully; his hands were attached to the table and had a limited range of movement. Handcuffs would do that.

Lifting his forehead, he instead rested his chin against the table surface and moved his hands over his face. The chain attaching the handcuffs to the table clanked and clattered, metal scraping against metal. The sound was atrocious, but he'd grown used to it. At least he had enough slack to rub his eyes and run his hands over his face in a desperate attempt to regain some alertness.

As he sat upright again, he felt a twinge in his lower spine and arched his back to get away from it. Instinctually, he moved his hand to massage the spot, but his wrist was yanked back by the cuff. Instead, he had to settle for wriggling his butt against the metal seat to change positions and hopefully alleviate some of the tension in his aching spine.

God, he though, how long have I been sitting here? His eyes immediately dropped to his left wrist, but he found it bare. He had been relieved of his watch, wallet, and cell phone upon arriving at the station. After all, what did a silly little thing like the time of day matter while sitting in a windowless interrogation chamber?

"Mr. Castle?"

Castle looked up to the detective who stood at the opposite corner of the table. His hands rested palms-flat against the table surface and his broad six-foot-plus frame hovered over Castle as it had ever since he entered the well-lit room of questions. Castle presumed the detective's hawk-like position was meant to intimidate, but he felt no nerves, merely exhaustion and, come to think of it, at little bit of hunger.

"Right," Castle said. He used his right hand to scoop up the plastic cup of water in front of him and drop the remaining few splashes into his mouth. "I woke up, sat up, and realized my feet were laying in a pool of-"

"No, Mr. Castle, start at the beginning." The detective's tone was not impatient or annoyed or even exasperated; it was eerily even given the number of times Castle had explained this particular part of his tale.

Castle blinked and met the eye of the dark-skinned man. The detective's dark brown eyes bore the same shade as his short-clipped professional hair and oddly unruly eyebrows. Castle's nose momentarily scrunched at the near uni-brow. It was, after all, 2014. Doing enough "manscaping" to at least ensure you had two separate eyebrows was hardly a crime.

"The beginning, Mr. Castle."

"Of what? Time? Sorry, Detective Marquez, I don't have _Genesis _memorized."

The detective sat down, brushed his pen and pad of paper aside, and clasped his hands together, resting them on the table surface. "Of yesterday, Mr. Castle; start at the beginning of your day yesterday."

Castle leaned back in his chair as much as his chained wrists would allow and looked directly at the detective. "I got up and had breakfast with my daughter before she went to school. My mother was in the sitting room practicing for her audition, so I went to my office to work on my book."

"And about what time was this?"

"About eight fifteen," Castle said in a dull tone for what felt like the tenth time. "I worked on editing chapters five thought seven until eleven, when I wanted a break. I walked all the way to Gramercy Park and got lunch on my way back. I-"

"Where did you have lunch?"

"Why, do you want to grab a bite?" He quipped. The detective merely stared at him. "A little sandwich shop about a block from the park. I got my usual pastrami and ate it as I walked back. I got back to my apartment and started editing chapter eight, but then my publicist called and we chatted for a while.

"Alexis got home from school just before four and asked me if she could go to a classmate's house to work on a group project. I told her that she could and she left again. My mother called me around five saying that she got a callback for her audition and she was going out to celebrate, so I was on my own for dinner, but I wanted to finish editing chapter eight first."

Castle paused the story to fight a yawn, and then continued. "Just as I finished chapter eight, I received a text from Tony."

"Tony who?"

Somewhat irritated, he responded, "Tony Ciardi."

"You mean Detective Anthony Ciardi—the man you killed?"

"I didn't kill him!" Castle enunciated as he leaned forward in his chair. The detective merely gestured his hand for Castle to continue and Castle scoffed under his breath. If he had a dollar for every time he'd insisted that he had not committed murder, he'd never need to write another book again.

"Tony texted me and told me that he discovered something and that I should come over as soon as I could."

Detective Marquez leaned forward in his chair. "Do you know what Detective Ciardi meant when he said he had discovered something?"

Castle shrugged and turned his gaze towards the two-way mirror in the room. "Not specifically, no, but I imagine it had something to do with the case we were investigating."

"And what case is that?"

"I told you—the death of Tony's father."

Marquez glanced down at his notepad and then back to Castle. "Detective Anthony Ciardi Senior? Didn't he die in a traffic accident four years ago?"

Castle bobbed his head. "Yes, but we believe that accident wasn't an accident at all. We've been looking for witnesses to try and prove that for months. It's possible Tony found something regarding that case."

"And why wouldn't he call you with that information?"

Castle responded with an annoyed expression. "How should I know? I don't even know _what_ he was going to tell me!"

The detective scratched a few notes down on the pad of paper and then set the pen aside once more. "Did you respond to Detective Ciardi's text?"

"Yes, I told him I'd be right there."

Marquez nodded and stared across the table. When, after a full minute, Castle did not respond, Marquez prompted him. "And then what happened?"

"I told you, I don't remember!" Castle groaned as he rested his forearms on the table and shut his eyes, searching the banks of his memory. He distinctly remembered responding to Tony's text, saving the document he was working on and shutting down his laptop. He remembered pocketing his cell phone and thinking he should use the bathroom before going to Tony's, but after that it all fell apart. Like trying to remember a dream several hours after waking it was blurry and a haze. "I don't remember anything until I woke up this morning."

Marquez picked up his pad of paper and sifted through the several pages of notes he'd written during Castle's initial run-through of the story. After a few minutes of page flipping, Marquez asked, "Mr. Castle, had you been drinking that night?"

"No."

"Not at all?"

"Not at all," Castle confirmed.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure all I had to drink that day was coffee, a bottle of water and a Dr. Pepper Ten."

"That's interesting," Marquez commented, writing down a few words.

Castle arched an eyebrow at him. "Why is that interesting?"

Marquez locked eyes with Castle. "Because, the detective's at the scene told me that you blew a one point two on a Breathalyzer that was taken at," he paused to glance at his notes, "four fifty-eight a.m. That's a pretty high BAC for someone who claims he hadn't been drinking."

"I wasn't drinking!"

"You weren't drinking before you left your house."

"That's what I said."

"But what about after you left your house?"

"I-" Castle paused before he could answer. Technically, if he could not remember what he did, he could not definitively say he had not consumed any alcohol.

"You claim you don't remember arriving at Detective Ciardi's home-"

"And I don't!"

"So can you say with one hundred percent certainty that you did not drink anything while you were there?"

Castle sighed heavily. "No, I suppose I cannot."

The detective "hmm-ed" under his breath as he wrote another sentence down in his notebook. While he was still writing, he asked, "What happened when you woke up?"

"I woke up and realized I was lying on the floor, so I sat up. My head felt very fuzzy-"

"Like you were hung over?"

Castle narrowed his gaze at the detective, wondering why he was so hell-bent on proving that he had been drunk. "Or drugged," he clarified before continuing. "I looked down at my feet and I noticed they were in a maroon pool. I've been to enough crime scenes to know what a blood pool looks like, so I knew what it was right away. That's when I saw Tony lying on the floor a few feet away."

"Where in the apartment were you?"

"Right where the sitting area meets the dining area."

"And where was Detective Ciardi's body?"

"Towards the kitchen, next to one of the dining room table's chairs."

"Was he laying face up or face down?"

"Face up."

The detective nodded. "Okay, continue"

"When I saw Tony, I scrambled over to him to see if he was okay, but it was obvious he was dead."

"How was it obvious?"

Castle blinked at the detective. "Because half his fucking face was missing."

"So you saw wounds on Detective Ciardi?"

"Like…his missing face…" Castle couldn't help responding with a bit of sarcasm; what a ridiculous question.

"Any other wounds?"

"Yeah, it looked like he'd been shot in the chest as well."

Marquez nodded. "Is that where you shot him? In the chest?"

"I didn't shoot him! Jesus!"

Marquez leaned forward again. "But you did show the responding officers where the gun was, didn't you Mr. Castle?"

Castle pursed his lips. "Which, obviously, I would have done if I shot him."

"Where was the gun, Mr. Castle?"

"In the middle of the floor."

"Be more specific: where was it in position to Detective Ciardi's body?"

Castle closed his eyes and thought a moment. "I don't know—seven or eight feet away?"

The detective jotted a note. "And where would you say it was in relation to where you woke up? Would you say at the time you woke up the gun was closer to you or the body."

Castle took a ten second pause to consider the specific wording of his answer, knowing it was an attempted trap. "I would say that technically, at that time, it may have been slightly closer to me."

"Slightly? Define slightly."

"I don't know—a bit."

"Feet, Mr. Castle. How many feet?"

"Two feet? Three? I don't know because I'd already moved from the spot I woke up in when I discovered the gun," he explained.

Marquez was silent for a few minutes as he sifted through his notes again. "What did you do after you determined Detective Ciardi was deceased?"

"Well, first, I tried not to vomit and then I looked for my phone."

"Your phone was not on your person?"

"No, it wasn't in my pocket; it was on the kitchen table."

"Did you put it there?"

Castle gritted his teeth and said in an almost growl, "I don't know."

"Did you call 911 from your phone?"

"Yes."

"Did you call anyone else?"

"No."

"Did you send any text messages?"

"No."

"Did you read any text messages?"

"Yes. One from my daughter. She asked where I was."

"And you didn't respond?"

"No."

"Did you see when your daughter sent the text?"

Castle paused and looked towards the ceiling as he thought. Unlike the rest of the questions the detective was asking, this one he hadn't heard before. He thought about the text for a moment, but did not recall looking at the time stamp. "No, I did not."

"What did you do after you called 911?"

"I just…I just sat on the edge of the table."

Detective Marquez blinked at him. "You just sat there?"

"Yeah, I just sat there."

"You didn't walk around the apartment?"

"No."

"You didn't go into the bedroom? Or the kitchen?"

"No, I didn't move."

"The whole time?"

Castle shrugged. "It wasn't really that long. The cavalry tends to hurry when you tell them there's an officer down."

"What happened when the officers arrived?"

Castle sighed heavily and rested his chin on his closed fist propped up by his elbow against the table. "An officer took me in the hall, asked me a bunch of questions. When I told him I couldn't remember what happened, the EMTs checked me out, drew blood, swabbed my hands, and took my jacket. Then they cuffed me, shoved me in the back of a squad car and brought me to this lovely little room where I've been hanging out with you."

"And do you know why you're here?"

"Obviously because you think I killed Tony."

"Did you?"

Castle smacked his fist down against the table. "For the millionth time—no! I didn't kill him!"

Calmly, Marquez picked up his pen and turned it towards the pad of paper. "And yet, you also claim you don't remember anything, so which one is it Mr. Castle? Do you not remember? Or are you positive you didn't kill him? Because it cannot be both."

Castle took in a long slow breath. Once again, he'd reached the disbelief part of the interrogation. This could not be happening to him; it simply could not be happening. "I'm not claiming the story makes any sense—in fact, that's the opposite of what I'm saying. The story _doesn't_ make sense and that's the whole point. I don't remember what happened, but other than that, what evidence do you have that I killed him? What would my motive be?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

"I don't have any motive! I wouldn't kill Tony; he's my friend—he was my friend," Castle corrected with a tone of sadness.

"Know what I think, Mr. Castle?"

He smiled wryly at the detective. "No, but I bet you're going to tell me, aren't you?"

"Detective Ciardi was the subject of your latest book, correct?"

Castle leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingertips against the table. "Well, no, he wasn't the subject of the book. I write fiction, Detective."

For the first time, the detective smiled. "Yes, I'm well aware of your books, Mr. Castle. What I meant was your book has a similar storyline to Detective Ciardi's real life."

Castle wobbled his head back and forth. "That's not how I would put it."

"How would you put it, Mr. Castle?"

"Well, that there were parts of Tony's life that inspired me to create my latest character, Timothy Chance, who is an NYPD detective whose father is dead. I assure you, that's where there similarities end."

"Right," Detective Marquez said in a tone that indicated nonbelief. "Well, I think that Detective Ciardi no longer wanted his life to be fictionalized by you and he asked you to not to continue writing your book. When you refused, the two of you argued and you shot him."

Castle laughed loudly. "That's the most ridiculous story I've ever heard."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"First, Tony had no problem with me using his life for the inspiration for Timothy Chance's life. Second, even if he did, I'm sure Tony would have told me about it four months ago when I first started writing the story. Third, again, even if Tony did want me to stop writing the story, I'm sure we could have come to some sort of agreement—a peaceful agreement. And, finally, fourth, even if we had not come to said peaceful agreement, I would have never shot him because I don't own a gun."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Positive. I would never allow a gun in my house when I have a young daughter," Castle said firmly.

Marquez glanced at his notes. "Isn't your daughter sixteen?"

Castle blinked at him. "Do you have children, Detective?"

"I don't see how that's relevant."

"Well, if you did have children, you'd understand that while Alexis is sixteen, I still think of her as being a little girl," Castle explained. The detective said nothing, which led Castle to believe that he was, in fact, a father.

Once again, Marquez shifted through his notes. Castle began to wonder if he was actually reading them or merely using them as a devise to take up time and attempt to intimidate him, the suspect. He had seen Tony do that several times before and was amazed at how well it worked in rattling the suspects. Then again, those suspects had actually been guilty.

"Well, Mr. Castle, why don't I leave you here for a little while? Maybe you'll be able to remember some things—like if you have an alibi since you claim to be innocent."

"I am innocent!" Castle insisted loudly. "And I've been sitting here for hours! Can't I at least have a bathroom break?"

"Oh, I suppose that could be arranged—in a little while." With that, the detective pushed himself to a standing position, picked up his notepad and pen, and exited the room without looking back.

Alone again for the first time in what he assumed to be around an hour, Castle stared straight ahead at his reflection in the two-way. His hair was disheveled, his shirt collar rumpled and his cheek was marked with a dark spot, which he presumed to be blood—Tony's blood. Sadly, it was not the worst he'd ever looked, but he'd certainly looked a hell of a lot better.

Though he knew his perception of time would be greatly skewed due to exhaustion and the confusion surrounding his hellish morning, he guessed that he'd been in police custody for no less than four or five hours, which meant that Alexis was on her way to school not knowing where he was. He felt a pang in her chest, not wanting to cause her any grief. Had she or his mother been notified of his whereabouts? More, importantly, had his lawyer? He'd asked for the five-hundred-dollar-an-hour, publisher-provided grease-ball to be called, but he remained suspiciously absent. Delay tactics, Castle figured. He had, after all, seen Tony do the same to sweat out a suspect.

But he wasn't a suspect! His brain challenged. Well, clearly he was, but not a valid one. Okay, so he didn't remember, but that didn't matter. He knew himself and even if he had been drunk he was certain he would have never shot Tony. He would never have shot anyone! Still, as he sat in interrogation with his own pallid reflection his only company, he wondered if he'd ever get Detective Marquez to believe him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

"Beckett! Beckett! Where the devil—Ling, have you seen Beckett?"

"Ah, she was just here a minute ago, Sir. Maybe she went to the break room?"

"Goddamnit, I swear to god I'm going to have to put a bell on her! If you see her, tell her I need her in the conference room—five minutes ago!"

Kate Beckett groaned and shrank back against the wall around the corner from her desk and the adjoining one belonging to her partner (term used loosely): Stanley 'Goddamnit is my favorite word' Banner.

Five minutes. All she wanted was five minutes. Five minutes away from her desk. Five minutes away from the insurmountable amount of paperwork piled in her plastic "In" bin. Five minutes away from Banner and his endless deep sighs into his food-encrusted salt-and-pepper mustache. Unfortunately, Kate would not get her five minutes; Ling was nice enough, but she knew the young agent would never cover for her. She was too by-the-book for that.

It was funny, she mused as she pressed her spine tighter against the wall, hoping that with just the right amount of pressure she could absorb herself into the gray-painted drywall and hideout for a while longer. This job was the first of her entire adult career that she continuously felt the need to take breaks: strolls from her desk, extended hangouts at the coffee pot, an extra minute or two washing her hands in the bathroom. It was the stress, she tried to tell herself; the pressure of federal-level investigations. Though, the longer it went on and the more breaks she felt the need to take the less she believed herself.

With one more sip of the warm brown liquid she held in her FBI Insignia mug, Kate rounded the corner and returned to her prison cell—er, cubicle. She set the mug down, picked up a pad of paper and tucked it under her right arm before scooping up two pens and her coffee mug once more.

Why two pens? Because her first day on the job with her new partner, Agent Banner-the-Hammer, she brought only one pen to their meeting as any normal person would. He promptly grabbed her pen, broke it in half with his bare hands, and threw it across the room. As she blinked at him, befuddled, he screamed at her that the pen was just like her service weapon and she should never go anywhere without a backup. As a result, she never went anywhere again with any less than two pens.

"Beckett! Finally!" Agent Banner said as she entered the conference room. His tone indicated that he had been waiting for several hours. Glancing at the clock to see that it was shortly after three p.m. she doubted that was possible. Kate gave him a polite nod and then sat down in one of the low-back chairs at the round table with the other teams of agents.

Banner pointed a palm sized remote control at the projector hanging from the ceiling and clicked one of the buttons. Immediately, a mug shot displayed on the unmarked white wall across from them. "Allow me to introduce you murder suspect numero uno: Richard Edgar Castle."

Kate choked on her coffee. "The writer?"

Banner shot her a perturbed expression. The same expression he gave anyone who interrupted his moments at the helm. With a defiant look her way, he clicked the remote again and bullet points appeared next to the headshot.

· _Richard Edgar Castle (born: Richard Alexander Rodgers)_

· _Hometown: New York, New York_

· _Occupation: Novelist_

· _Age: 38_

· _Hair Color: Brown_

· _Eye Color: Blue_

· _Height: 6'1"_

· _Weight: 200 (approx.)_

· _Race: Caucasian_

"Mr. Castle is the suspect in two overnight murders. First," Banner clicked the remote, "Detective Anthony Ciardi Junior, NYPD eleventh precinct." On the screen flashed the official NYPD ID photo of the detective. Banner clicked the remote again and another picture appeared: the DMV photo of a middle-aged, over-tanned, bottle-blonde woman. "Second, Pamela Mackey. Detective Ciardi was found dead in his apartment in Manhattan; Ms. Mackey was found dead in her home in Jersey City, so you know what that means kids—crossing state lines puts this case in our jurisdiction."

Banner paused his speech to hand out an information packet to the five men and women crowded around the table before him. "At this time, we are still receiving information from the NYPD. They have interrogated Mr. Castle and are processing him into central booking. Since one of their own is a victim, we are allowing the NYPD the courtesy of keeping Mr. Castle in their custody. However, I intend on speaking with him myself as soon as that can be arranged.

"Please review the documents in front of you and we will reconvene in one hour to discuss our strategy. Though," Banner chuckled, "this one does seem pretty open and shut. Dismissed!"

As the room filed with the sound of chairs scraping against the ground and the soft hum of discussion, Kate remained frozen in place, staring up at the projection display, which had returned to the face of the novelist-slash-murder suspect. Simply put, she was stunned.

Just a few days earlier she had received her monthly email from the Richard Castle fan website announcing the title of his upcoming book. _Crossroads_ would be the first in the series about a new character, Detective Timothy Chance of the NYPD, who, through the course of another investigation, discovers that his father's suicide was, in fact, a covered-up murder. Being a NYPD alum herself, Kate had to admit she was intrigued at the prospect of that book. She had thoroughly enjoyed previous series featuring CIA Agent Derrick Storm and his earlier works as well—all of which she had read.

Since she had read his books and read and watched numerous interviews he'd given, Kate felt as though she knew the author, or at least part of him. He seemed like a nice enough guy, though a bit arrogant. Then again, she supposed that came with the territory of fame. Still, it was difficult to imagine him killing two people, one of them a cop. Granted, even with her profession, she did not like to imagine anyone as a killer and, at the end of the day, everything she knew—or thought she knew—about Richard Castle was merely superficial.

With a sigh, Kate pushed herself to a standing position and gathered her notepad, note packet, pens and coffee mug. She crossed through the sterile, gray-tone-themed office without making eye contact with anyone, as was the unofficial standard operating procedure of the Feds. At her desk, she toed off her shoes and propped her feet up against the CPU of her computer as she began to skim the informational packet.

Victim one: Pamela Mackey, age 42, resident of Jersey City, New Jersey. Employed by Bonnie's Stylz, a hair salon in Jersey City. Mackey lived alone in a one bedroom, third floor walk-up apartment a few blocks from her place of employment. According to the on-scene reports, Mackey was killed by a single 9mm gunshot wound to the chest. Her time of death was approximately between seven and nine p.m., though an autopsy was needed to confirm both manner and time of death.

Victim two: Detective Ciardi, age 27, resident of New York, New York. He had been a member of the NYPD for just over five years. Ciardi was found dead in his apartment with gunshot wounds to both his head and his chest. The bullets were also a 9mm. His time of death was between ten p.m. and midnight, but, again, an autopsy would confirm. The presumed weapon, a 9mm handgun, was found at the scene.

According to the NYPD reports, a 911 call was received at 4:28 a.m. stating that there was an NYPD officer dead at the address matching Ciardi's apartment. When officers arrived, they found the caller, Richard Castle, with the body. According to their reports, Castle was disoriented, confused, and insisted he had no memory of the prior evening. A Breathalyzer test revealed he had a BAC of one point two. Blood and urine samples were taken at the scene for further analysis.

As Kate finished the summary page of the informational packet, she rested her left cheek on her left fist and tapped a pen absentmindedly against the desk pad with her right hand. The timeline of the two deaths seemed to fit, but how, she wondered, had they connected Castle to the death of the woman in New Jersey?

To answer, her query, she flipped through the pages of the packet she held and found the page on Pamela Mackey's crime scene. According to the report, a neighbor heard a gunshot and called 911. When they arrived, the officers found the door of her apartment forced open and Mackey dead in the entry way, as though she'd been shot upon going to investigate the break in.

The only piece of paper on the refrigerator in her apartment contained Detective Ciardi's name, address, and that day's date, leading investigators to believe they had a preset meeting of some sort. By the time the New Jersey police were attempting to contact the NYPD detective, they were informed of his murder, which first sparked the connection. Thumbing through the notes from the Detective's apartment scene, Kate found a note that foreign blood—blood not belonging to the victim or suspect—was found in the sink of Ciardi's apartment. The blood type matched that of Mackey, but a DNA test would be performed to confirm a full match.

"So, you went to New Jersey, killed Mackey, went to Ciardi's, cleaned up, and then shot him?" Kate asked herself quietly. "But why?"

Before she could even think about answering her own query, the sound of Banner's booming tone echoed through the entire FBI main room. "Everyone into the conference room—NOW! Right now! That means you Beckett! Goddamnit would you come on!"

Kate shot Banner a perturbed expression as she was already on her feet thus making the need to call out her name separately a moot point. Naturally, Banner ignored her. She grabbed her two pens and her information packet and scurried into the conference room with the other agents. She did not even have a chance to sit before Banner was commanding the room once more.

"We have just received word from the NYPD that Mr. Castle never arrived at central booking to be processed. He is now considered a suspect at large."

"He escaped?!" Ling asked, her long black hair swinging down from her shoulders and skimming the tabletop as her chin dropped in shock. "How?"

"That is unclear at this point," Banner informed them. "What we do know is that he is no longer in police custody. Goddamnit." He ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper helmet of perfectly trimmed strands of hair. "The media is going to be all over this like flies on shit."

"What has the media reported so far, sir?" Another senior agent questioned.

Banner gave a flippant wave of his hand. "Those entertainment news programs—_Hollywood Access_ or whatever—reported his arrest on their lunchtime broadcasts. He escaped just in time to make the five o'clock goddamned news and the internet is probably blowing up about it. Fortunately, all the stink is on the NYPD, as they're the ones who lost him, which means we'll need to be the ones who find him."

He fished the small remote from the center of the conference table and flicked it towards the ceiling projector. A moment later, a map of the island of Manhattan and its surrounding areas appeared on the wall. Banner used the small laser pointer with the remote to point towards the map as he spoke.

"Mr. Castle was last seen here, leaving the precinct with his police escort. This was their assumed route to central booking. It is not known where along the route they deviated. The NYPD is canvassing the area. We are getting ready to mobilize teams to have them stationed at his place of residence, his publisher's, his agent's, and any other places we think he might hide out. We do not want him getting off the island of Manhattan."

Banner went around the room delegating tasks until finally his eyes turned to Kate. "Agent Beckett, Mr. Castle has a residence in Southampton, New York. It is unlikely he would go there as it is listed as a summer residence, but someone should be there to check it out. I'd like you to go there and meet up with the local PD."

Kate balked immediately at this assignment. "You want me to go all the way to Southampton? In five o'clock traffic? That'll take hours!"

Banner folded his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry, Beckett, I thought you wanted to be part of this team? Or would you prefer to sit at your desk and work on some more of that paperwork you've got piled everywhere."

She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from responding too quickly and thus with a snarky answer. The paperwork he was referring to was, of course, all paperwork from him—paperwork he was too busy, too important, or too stupid to do. Or, so she liked to tell herself. "No, sir. I just thought I'd be of better use here in Manhattan."

"Staking out one of the residences of Mr. Castle is a very important task, Agent. It is possible that Mr. Castle will show up there and you'll need to apprehend him. Are you prepared for that task?"

"Yes, sir; of course, sir."

"Great. Phone in once you arrived to see if there are any updates," he informed her. Then, with a forced smile, he left the meeting room along with the others bound to accomplish his self-delegated task of speaking with the precinct that misplaced their suspect.

After checking a vehicle out of the FBI motor pool, Kate began her drive to the far end of Long Island. The first ten minutes went smoothly, until she reached the entrance to the Queens Midtown Tunnel, where traffic was at a complete standstill. With a sigh, Kate gathered up her hair into a messy bun at the crown of her head and used the spare hair rubber band on her wrist to secure it. Hair out of her face, she rested her left elbow on the door and her closed fist against her temple and prepared to wait.

If she was being entirely honest with herself, Kate would have been forced to admit that her first six months with the FBI had not gone exactly as she'd hoped. At the time she accepted the position, she expected to be working on complicated cases and hunting down dangerous criminals. As a realist, she understood this would not happen in her first week; yet, the same time, she did not anticipate that six months into her job she would still be at a desk processing all of Banner's paperwork and her only forays into the field would be when he was forced to take her due to no one else being available. Banner's insistence that she remain a desk jockey baffled her particularly considering the FBI position was not her first jaunt in the world of law enforcement.

The way Kate saw it a career involving the law had been her destiny since birth. With both parents lawyers (her mother practicing, her father as a professor), she simply grew up with the mindset she would go into the family business. Of course, they did not pressure her in any way to follow in their footsteps and would have been equally proud of her had she chosen another path, but the fact of the matter was she wanted to be a lawyer.

Pre-law as an undergraduate major led to many law school acceptances and would have led to her continuing on that path if, at the age of twenty-two, her life hadn't veered completely off track with the unexpected death of her mother. After that, she took a sharp exit off the lawyer turnpike and into the one-way tunnel of the police academy, and a position with the NYPD.

After becoming the youngest woman in NYPD history to make detective, Kate set the bar high for herself and made it her life's mission to have the highest case closure rate at the twelfth precinct. It was that drive, that tenacity that got her noticed by a federal investigator from Washington, D.C., in Manhattan tracking a serial murderer who had made his way to the island. Her assistance in the case was pivotal in catching the suspect and thusly earned her an interview with the Bureau.

Kate's working relationship with the DC branch had gone so well she assumed she would fit in easily with the New York branch after she accepted the position. That was until she met her superior officer, Agent Stanley Banner, an arrogant prick of an investigator who took every ounce of power provided to him under the law and blew it up to Titanic-sized proportions.

She wasn't sure she did anything to Banner that directly offended him; he merely seemed to be affronted by the fact that she existed. Or perhaps it was the fact that she, a woman, dared to come highly recommended into a department dominated by men, who had slugged their way through the trenches of the entry-level FBI world instead of cutting their teeth on the streets as a beat cop and working their way up.

In the NYPD, her name and the arrest records that went along with it commanded respect. At the FBI—or, at the very least, with Banner—they meant jack shit. To him, she was just the silly little newbie who couldn't do anything correctly expect fill out tiny comment blocks in reams and reams of paper.

Really, she thought bitterly, she should have been happy he entrusted her to visit one of Castle's residences. She figured Banner wouldn't trust her with anything more than interviewing Castle's barber, but then again this was one of those rare scenarios that, due to the suspects escape, they were short-handed and spread thin, meaning no one of any skill level could be wasted.

Once Kate cleared the cluster of traffic surrounding the isle of Manhattan, her drive smoothed out, or smoothed as much as it could considering she was attempting the trip on a Wednesday at peak evening rush-hour. She stopped once to purchase a cup of coffee and a few granola bars, knowing that at the very least it would be over four hours before she would be able to return to her apartment. That was assuming she spent only one hour at the Castle residence. Considering how the afternoon was going so far, that seemed a low estimate.

Shortly after seven p.m., just as the sky was beginning to grow dusky on that early April evening, the FBI's GPS led her to the Hamptons residence of one Richard Castle. As she slowly pulled into the driveway, Kate shook her head at the first glimpse of what could easily be considered an estate, not just a house. "So this is what millions buys you," she commented to herself as she parked her dark sedan in front of the home's bay of garages.

Though she resided in Manhattan her whole life, Kate had never actually been to any part of the Hamptons before. Her mother had family in New Jersey, so any childhood beach trips took place in that state. Plus, her mother felt the Hamptons were overrated and unnecessarily expensive. Thus, she never visited as a child or as an adult. She had, of course, seen many pictures of the mansions that lined those elite beaches, but there was something very different about getting a glimpse of one up close and person.

After a few minutes of gawking at the sprawling home with its cedar siding and crisp white trim, Kate pulled her iPhone from the vehicle's center console cup holder and dialed the central FBI dispatch number. The tired-sounding woman on the other end informed her that their suspect was still at large and she did not have any waiting messages. Kate thanked the woman tersely, dropped her phone into her lap and stared up at the house.

The thought of just waiting around in case something happened seemed particularly unappealing to her, as it made her feel entirely useless. Feeling uselessness was akin to corporal punishment, she decided the least she could do was a perimeter sweep. In truth, the house was so large it seemed plausible that someone could enter the house from behind and be inside without her ever knowing if she remained out front. Thus, taking a walk around the entire home seemed the most prudent thing to do with her job. Plus, it came with the added bonus of being able to see in more detail how the other half lived.

Kate pulled the keys from the ignition, picked up her cell phone, and exited the vehicle, making sure to shut the car door as quietly as she could on the off chance the suspect was hunkered down inside his summer home. She dropped her keys and phone into separate pockets in her coat before taking the stone path on the far west side of the house, which presumably led around to the back. With one hand hovering just above her hip holster she cautiously turned the corner and was able to see a white picket fence blocking her path just a few feet ahead.

Upon reaching the fence, Kate realized a pool was hidden behind it. A very large pool. "Of course," she muttered. She stood on her tip toes and peered over the gate to see that it was latched, but not locked in any way. She pulled the latch open and cautiously stepped inside, shutting the gate behind her.

The pool, it seemed, was fenced completely separately from any entrance to the home. She exited the area using the gate at the back and continued on the stone path towards the back deck of the sprawling home. She paused once to glance at the ocean view the deck provided. Shaking her head, she climbed the deck stairs quietly.

Her hand now resting against the top edge of her service weapon, she crept quietly towards the edge of the home and began peering inside the windows. Looking through the first three sets of windows and the sliding glass doors provided nothing but darkness. On the next set of windows, however, she caught a faint glow reflecting off the hardwood floors.

Kate moved to the next window to obtain a better viewing angle and saw that, sure enough, a light was on inside one of the rooms of the home. Whatever that room was—a bathroom, an office, or something else—it could not be viewed from her position, but there was a light on; she was sure of it. Pressing herself against the siding between two windows, she paused to think.

The cop in her knew that it would be prudent to assume that anyone who had escaped police custody after being charged with a double homicide to be a dangerous individual. Famous author or not, he could have been armed with any sort of weapon. Plus, she would be entering the home blind; she had no knowledge of the floor plan or any routes of escape. In this situation, backup would definitely be preferred.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and phoned FBI dispatch. She told the woman who answered to contact the local PD and ask them to meet her at Castle's residence as quickly as they could, but to tell them to not use any sirens so as not to spook whoever was inside. The woman on the other end said she would relay the message immediately.

Kate ended the call and returned the phone to her pocket. She rotated her body to the right just enough to peer inside the home once more. She had a clear view of the light reflection until a shadow crossed through it. The light returned a moment later and Kate cursed under her breath. That confirmed it; there was definitely someone inside the home. Someone who could be destroying evidence or god only knew what at that very moment. She was going to have to risk it.

Ducking under the windows, Kate scurried to the far end of the porch, where there was a door. Silently hoping, she skimmed her hand against the handle and pressed down. She felt no resistance and, holding her breath, she pushed the door open. When no alarms sounded, she let out the breath though her nose; so far, so good.

Weapon out in front of her, cradled in both of her fists, Kate crept into the home as quietly as her boots against the hardwood allowed. She thought momentarily about taking them off, but decided against it. Instead, she walked mostly on her tip-toes, not allowing the heel to crack against the hard surface.

Kate entered the home and found herself in the kitchen, where the hum of the refrigerator was the loudest sound that could be heard. She crouched behind a row of cabinets and looked carefully down the hallway. The stream of light came out of a doorway about twenty feet ahead of her. The hallway was long and narrow with only two other doorways, both with closed doors. Once she started down the hall, there would be no cover.

She took two steps towards the doorway and froze. There it was again: the shadow. Kate strengthened her grip on her gun and took a deep breath. "FBI!" She spoke firmly at a slightly-louder-than-conversational volume. "Come into the hall slowly with your hands where I can see them."

She strained her ears to listen, but heard no movement. She took two more steps towards the room and braced herself against the opposite wall. "I said come out with your hands where I can see them." She repeated. Her back skimming against the wall, she took one more step forward, bringing her almost close enough to see into the room.

Kate opened her mouth again to announce her presence, but before she could she heard a snap and a crack, everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Three**

Richard Castle was not a fool. His knowledge of prison life was limited, but he was aware that being a child molester in prison was not something one should aspire to be (not that a person should strive to be a child molester in any other circumstance). He did not, however, know where "alleged cop killer" fell on the spectrum of prison-preferred felony offences. Despite this, he had absolutely no desire to become any more acquainted with the intimacies of the prison hierarchy system than he already was.

Of course he had a prison escape plan! What red-blooded, American mystery writer worth his salt wouldn't have a prison escape plan? Well, come to think of it, Patterson probably didn't, but he was also probably smart enough not to get arrested in the first place.

Castle had a prison escape plan ever since he had enough money to buy himself one. He had spent his entire adult life entrenched in mystery, murder and intrigue. All the scenarios and stories his twisted novelist mind came up with made him paranoid and, quite frankly, scared shitless of prison. Not to mention the fact that, though he wasn't proud of them, he'd had more than his fair share of scrapes with the law over the years. True, none had landed him more than a night in the drunk tank and almost all of them were misdemeanors, but, still, a man had to have a plan. (He also maintained plans in case of alien invasion or zombie apocalypse, but he hoped he would never have to use either of those.)

Castle's prison escape plan began with his five-hundred-plus an hour lawyer. The "plus" part being the ticket to the no questions asked clause. Any day, any hour, any place in the world. All Castle had to do was make a call and his lawyer would move heaven and earth to get whatever he needed. It just so happened that on that Wednesday in early April he needed two fake cops, a phony transfer order, an escape vehicle, and a few hundred dollars in cash (small bills only!).

Castle made a phone call using the pre-determined code word ("monopoly"—what else?) and, as he was paid to do, Señor Sleezeball Lawyer came though. Almost twelve hours after he arrived he was once again a free man…a free man who had escaped police custody after a felony charge, but a free man nonetheless.

Despite everything that happened—all the ways the police tried to confuse him during their interrogation—Castle remained confidence in his innocence. Drunk, drugged or otherwise, he knew there was no version of himself who would shoot and kill anyone, let alone a friend like Tony. Since Detective Marquez was determined not to believe him, Castle took it upon himself to prove that very fact. After all, who had more case-solving motivation than he?

After climbing into the twenty-plus-year-old rusted heap Toyota his lawyer had procured, Castle began driving east towards Long Island. He knew by that point that his loft would be crawling with law enforcement, so returning home was not advisable. Fortunately, being the wealthy man he was, he had a second domicile option. The Hamptons estate not only had spare cash and a change of clothes (not to mention a shower), but it also had all the backed up research he'd complied through his diggings with Tony. True, the Hamptons PD could have been watching the house by that point, but it was a risk he would need to take. Without those files, proving he was not responsible for Tony's death would be borderline impossible.

As he drove the Expressway, Castle reflected on how his day had begun. Waking up to a pool of blood and a murder was clearly a much more distressing wakeup call than he was used to. He vividly recalled the unrelenting nausea in his gut at the sight of the mangled face of his friend. He could still see it if he shut his eyes and imagined it was an image his mind would not soon forget.

Staring down at the corpse of his friend, Castle for the first time understood why people—guilty or not—often fled the scene of a crime.

All his life, he'd never understood it. If you didn't do anything wrong, why would you run? Why wouldn't you call the police? Why wouldn't you do the right thing? After all, the law is on your side: innocent until proven guilty. The burden of proof was on the state; if they could not prove _beyond a reasonable doubt_ that you were guilty, you were free as a bird. Yet, as he stood there, his shoes sticky with Tony's blood, the air nauseatingly thick with a metallic scent, Castle's brain screamed one word louder than any other: Run.

Run—get out. Get away. Be anywhere but here. You have no alibi. You have no idea what happened last night. You need to run.

For a brief moment, he thought about giving in to the convincing voice, but then he refused. His shadow days with Tony and the other members of the NYPD had restored his faith in the justice system. The justice system would always prevail. He did not do anything wrong and thus he had nothing to worry about. So he called 911 and quickly found that the theme of the justice department should be "Innocent until proven guilty…unless you're found at the crime scene next to something that looks like the murder weapon. Then, you're definitely guilty (even if you're the one who called the police and reported said crime!)"

To ensure his innocence, all Castle needed to do was find the person who really did kill Tony. Granted, at that particular moment, wearing his white undershirt and FDNY provided slippers, driving a barely functioning vehicle manufactured around the same time he first received his driver's license, finding the identity of the real killer seemed one of the most unmanageable tasks in the world.

Castle pulled into the driveway of his Hampton's home shortly after six that evening to find that, much to his relief, it was completely void of cop cars. It was then he decided he needed to do just one thing at a time. One step at a time, the first of which being a shower. He parked the vehicle in front of his home but stopped before getting out.

Surely, by that time, the NYPD was aware of his escape. If they were aware of his escape, they were probably looking for him. If they were looking for him, they would eventually search his Hamptons residence. Even the bumbling Hamptons cops would recognize a twenty-year-old beater car sitting in the driveway of his multimillion dollar home as being out of place. The natural solution to that issue would be pulling the car into a free garage bay of which he had three, but if he did that and the cops showed up while he was inside, his only remaining route of escape would be on foot and Castle did not like those odds.

Instead, Castle drove the car back out to the main road and three houses away. That particular home he knew to be vacant until May first, when its owner would arrive from his regular residence in Toronto. The driveway was, fortunately, hidden from street view, so stashing the car there was his best plan.

After walking down the beach to access his home from the neighbors, Castle let himself inside using a spare key to the back door hidden under the porch and headed directly to his bedroom. Though he wanted to take a half hour long shower and make full use of all the massage jets it possessed, he knew that to be a foolish decision. He settled for five minutes of efficiently soaping up and rinsing off before changing into clean clothes.

Castle grabbed a duffle bag with the words "Derrick Storm, _Storm Fall_" embroidered on the side from under the bed. Into it, he stuffed a few changes of underwear, a change of jeans, and several shirts. From his dresser drawer, he grabbed all the spare cash he could find (approximately three thousand dollars). He took two steps towards the hall when he paused and turned back to add two Rolexes to the bag, which he knew he could sell if he needed more money.

Downstairs, he grabbed a light jacket from the coat closet and then headed directly for his office. As he booted up his laptop, he silently thanked the forethought he possessed to have an off-site backup for his research. It had only been the weekend before that he drove out to check on the house and save a copy of all of his and Tony's notes on his Hamptons external hard drive. Just in case, he'd told himself. "Richard Castle, you are brilliant," he said aloud to no one in particular.

As the computer booted, he went to the kitchen and raided the cabinets. He knew there would be nothing edible in the fridge, as they did not keep it stocked during the non-summer months, but the pantry should have had something palatable. He found a can of his childhood favorite: Chef Boyardee ravioli. Since it had been nearly twenty-four hours since he'd eaten, Castle grabbed a spoon, cracked open the can and began shoveling the contents into his mouth, not even caring that they were room temperature.

He had almost returned to his desk chair when he realized he probably would need a drink, so he walked back to the kitchen pantry and grabbed three bottles of water, two of which he dumped in his duffle. The third, he opened and drank almost completely in four gulps.

Castle had barely taken a seat when he heard it: a creak coming from the back of the house. Standing beside the desk he paused, water bottle still clutched in his hand, and listened. He strained his ears and then heard it again. The floor was creaking; someone was in the house.

Cursing under his breath, Castle set the water bottle down and ran his fingers through his hair as he thought. He needed an escape plan and he needed it now. The office had windows, but they were the crank kind and he knew it would take him far too long to crank one open enough to shimmy his large frame out. The office door led to the hall where the person inside his home—presumably a cop—was waiting.

His heart rate quickly climbing towards maximum speed, Castle scanned his eyes throughout the room, desperately searching for something, anything he could use to escape. _Damnit_, he thought to himself, _why didn't a buy a home with secret passageways_? Because he could not think of a more perfect escape route at that moment than a bookshelf that was actually a hidden doorway.

In ten seconds, he'd formulated a plan. It had a one in ten million chance of working, but it was all he had.

As quietly as he could, he crept across the room to the large bookcase, on top of which rested a sheathed samurai sword. Of course, it wasn't a real samurai sword; it was the movie prop version of one, but that was alright. He didn't need it for sword fighting purposes.

Once he grabbed the sword, he turned to the small wooden box on the second shelf down from the top of the bookcase. He popped the top of the box open and froze at the sound of a voice.

"FBI! Come into the hall slowly with your hands where I can see them."

Castle glanced towards the hallway. The Fed in his home was a woman and not a three hundred pound Rambo-esque man. That actually improved his chances of success. With a deep breath, Castle scooped up the contents of the wooden box in his left hand while holding the sword with his right.

"I said come out with your hands where I can see them," the FBI woman announced. Castle could tell by the sound of her voice that she was nearing the doorway, so he needed to make his move.

In that moment, he had never been so proud of the fact that into adulthood, he maintained a proclivity towards childish things, including magic tricks. He was particularly a fan of elements of distraction, like the tiny packets you could throw on the floor which would then create a bang, a flash, and a puff of smoke, by which a magician could theoretically escape. Granted, one such object would hardly create a plumb of smoke large enough to obscure a child, let alone a man of his stature. Eight, however, he hoped would have a more significant effect.

Taking a deep breath, Castle slammed the eight packets down to the floor all at once. Much to his delight, they did create a significant cloud of smoke. He pushed his way through and towards the back of the house. Though he knew that was the direction the voice came from, he also assumed the front of his house to be crawling with Feds, so the back seemed a better route of escape.

Holding the sword in front of him horizontally with both hands, he attempted to use it to push her back and out of the way, but instead it got caught up on her arms held straight in front of her, cradling her gun. After just a few seconds, the smoke began to dissipate, and Castle knew he was losing his window. He brought the sword down hard on the top of her hands and she yelped, dropping the gun.

Realizing he would be unable to flee before the smoke completely dissipated and the woman regained her full sight, Castle promptly came up with a new plan. Her gun had conveniently landed by his right foot, so he scooped it up and pressed it into the back of her shoulder blade. "Don't move or I'll shoot," he said, fighting to keep the smirk off his face at his movie-dialogue-sounding words.

She immediately raised her arms out to her sides, elbows bent ninety degrees. "Mr. Castle, my name is Agent Kate Beckett; I'm with the FBI. Why don't we just-"

"Wait a second," He interrupted her as the realization hit him. FBI. She was FBI. Not Hamptons PD. Not New York PD. FBI. "Why…why is the FBI involved?"

"That's what happens when murders cross state lines." She explained simply.

His brow furrowed in confusion. "But I didn't cross state lines—I'm still in New York."

"Not murder_ers_—murders." She clarified.

Castle began to slacken his arms in confusion, but realized it soon enough to correct and press the muzzle of the gun into the gap between her left shoulder blade and spine. "What murders?"

"Detective Tony Ciardi and Pamela Mackey. The murder of Ms. Mackey took place in New Jersey."

"Pamela Ma—who? Who the hell is that?"

She turned her head slightly so she could just barely glimpse him out of the corner of her left eye. "The woman you killed last night."

"I didn't kill anyone last night!" He growled. Why the hell did no one believe that? He was getting really sick of it. "Jesus just—I'm the one with the gun here!" he insisted, pressing it into her spine that time.

"Okay, Mr. Castle, just calm down. We can talk about this." Her voice was extremely calm and cop sounding; it annoyed him.

Castle took a moment to think about his situation. He needed to escape, and not with a Fed as his hostage either. He also still wanted those backup files. He glanced behind him and out the kitchen windows; he saw nothing. Using the reflection off the microwave door, he looked towards the front of the home and saw no flashing red lights. This he took as a positive sign; perhaps escape was still in the cards. On a whim, he decided on a new plan of action.

"Into the office." He commanded, giving her a little shove with the gun. She walked forwards, arms still in goalpost stance. He gave her another little shove and said, "Sit. There. In that chair. Don't move."

Still holding the gun on her, Castle walked to the back of his desk and opened the top drawer where he had a few spare zip ties for reigning in excessively long computer wires. After scooping up four of them, he turned back to his hostage, for the first time seeing her face. She was in her early thirties at most, with her medium brown hair secured in a messy bun at the top of her head. Her eyes and cheekbones were well defined and alarmingly attractive given her profession. She looked more like a model than a Fed.

Taking his silence as an opportunity, she spoke calmly. "Let's talk about this Mr. Castle. If you turn yourself in-"

"I'll go to jail. Here," he tossed the zip ties into her lap. "Tie your feet to the chair legs—very slowly. Nothing funny."

With a perturbed expression, she picked up the zip ties and did as he asked, making a dramatic gesture about doing the task at a slow pace.

"Make them nice and tight," he reminded her. Looking up and locking eyes with him, she yanked on the free end of the zip tie, proving it was at its maximum tightness. Had he not been under so much stress, Castle may have laughed at the look on her face, as it was so obviously sarcastic and mocking. "Now your hands."

With slight difficulty, she zip tied her left wrist to the arm of the chair. Then, she held up the fourth and final zip tie with her right hand. "What do you want me to do with this?"

Realizing it was impossible for her to zip tie that hand to the chair by herself, Castle walked over to her right side and looped the zip tie around her wrist and the arm of the chair, pulling it as tight as it would go. "Where's your cell phone?" he asked.

"My pocket."

"Which pocket?"

"Right coat pocket."

Castle dipped his hand into the exterior pocket of her jacket, pulled out her iPhone and set it on the center of his desk. Next to it, he set her service weapon; he wouldn't need that now that she was secure. Besides, he needed to use both hands at his computer to transfer the files.

"Mr. Castle," she began in an exasperated tone. "You realize you're only making things worse for yourself by holding a federal officer against her will, right?"

"I'm not holding you against your will," he insisted before returning to the opposite side of his desk.

She glanced down at her wrists and then back up at him. "The zip ties indicate otherwise."

He looked over at her. "Well I'm to going to keep holding you. I just need to get some files and then I'm going to go."

"What files are you getting?"

"What's it matter?" he asked bitterly.

"Well," she began, "the police report I read indicates that you claim to be innocent."

His gaze shot to hers. "I am innocent!"

"Yes, and your behavior right now is clearly showing that."

He huffed out a short breath though his nose, pursed his lips and then turned back towards his computer screen. "I didn't kill Tony, alright? I don't know who did, but it wasn't me. I would never have killed him; he was my friend. The story doesn't make sense."

"What story?" she asked. She knew she had to keep him talking, keep him distracted. The Hamptons PD were bound to show up eventually.

"The story that that hack Detective Marquez cooked up. The one where I shot Tony because he was mad about my new book. Ridiculous. And how could I even shoot him? I don't own a gun!"

"The NYPD found a receipt for a gun in the pocket of your coat," she informed him.

Castle looked away from his computer and gaped at her. "What idiot keeps a receipt for a gun they bought for a murder? Who even gets a receipt for a gun?!" Muttering to himself, he turned back to his laptop. He located the files on the external hard drive and had begun copying them over to the computer's hard drive. As they loaded, he fished the computer's power cord out from underneath the desk.

"None of this story makes sense," he continued, "but the NYPD doesn't care about that. The FBI probably doesn't either."

"Mr. Castle, you don't have an alibi for last night." Kate informed him gently. "Without an alibi, you can see why-"

"Yes I see it! I damn well see it!" he snapped at her. "But I swear I didn't do it. I don't know what happened last night—to me, or to Tony, but I never would have killed him."

"And what about Pamela?"

"I don't even know who that is! I've never heard of her therefore I couldn't have killed her. I didn't kill her. I'm being fr-framed." As the words left his mouth, it felt like all the lights turning on in a dark room at all once. It was the first time he'd said it, thought it, but it was the only thing that made sense.

"Yes that's it!" He looked up at her. "That has to be it! I'm being framed—someone is framing me! We must have…we must have been on to something. We must have uncovered something…maybe something we didn't realize we uncovered, but they knew. They absolutely knew."

Kate's eyes ran over the face of the man before her. Judging by his expression, he was either a very good actor or he had genuinely just realized something, because his previously dull and smoky eyes had brightened significantly. Still, to her, he was making no sense. "Mr. Castle, what are you talking about? If you want me to help you then-"

"The case!" He insisted. "Tony's father's case. It has to be! Here!" He opened the top drawer of the desk and pulled out a USB drive. He popped it into the side of the computer and dragged new files from the hard drive to it. As they were loading, he walked over to his duffle bag, which he had deposited on the floor beside the desk.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He didn't respond, but when the files finished transferring, he popped the USB drive from the computer and set it on the desk next to her phone. "There," he said, opening his hand and gesturing towards the drive. "That's all I have—all the research Tony and I have done."

Castle walked over to her side of the desk, crouched down and looked her directly in the eye as he spoke. "Talk to my family, my publisher, my agent—they'll tell you. I didn't do this; I didn't kill anyone, and if I have to prove it all by myself, I will."

With that, he closed his laptop and slipped it into the duffle bag, which he placed atop the desk so he could zip it shut.

Kate watched as she moved and considered him. She heard the conviction in his voice, stared into his eyes as he stared at her, unblinking. All the signs indicated he was telling the truth, but she had also seen many of the same actions from true psychopaths. "Okay," she said slowly. "Say I believe you. You didn't kill anyone, but you did escape police custody."

"Technically…"

She blinked at him. "What technically? You either did or you didn't and you did. How did you escape, anyway?" she asked. He averted his gaze from her, obviously not interested in answering. "Well, in addition to your escape, you've also kidnapped a federal officer."

"Look Agent…What did you say your name was?"

"Beckett. Kate Beckett"

He nodded, liking the sound of that name. "Agent Beckett you seem like a reasonable woman. Are you married?"

Though she could not see the significance in her answer, she did so automatically. "No."

"That's probably why you're still reasonable." Her eyes narrowed at this comment, but he either didn't notice or chose to ignore it. "I'm going to make a deal with you, how does that sound?"

She arched a skeptical eyebrow at him. "What's the deal?"

"You will promise to look at the contents of this USB drive. In return, I will call the cops and tell them where you are so you're not stuck sitting here for the next several hours tied to a chair." He shouldered his duffle and picked up the USB with his left hand and her cell phone with his right. "Deal?"

"Deal," she repeated.

"Excellent. And, Agent Beckett, I'm a man of my word, so I'll be very disappointed if you don't hold up your end of the bargain." He walked over to her, popped the USB drive into her left coat pocket and took two steps towards the exit before stopping. "Oh, and by the way, I'll leave your cell on the back deck if you want it back." With that, he turned and left the house without ever looking back.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I'm very glad you guys are enjoying this story so far. Thank you so much for all the reviews!_

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**Four**

By the time Kate arrived back at her apartment it was nearly one thirty in the morning. Fortunately, due to the late hour, she did not hit any traffic on her way back, but given how long of a day it had been, that did not ease her exhaustion in any way. She stumbled into her apartment, kicking off her boots and shrugging off her jacket, which she dropped on the floor by the kitchen. She made no other effort to get undressed; she simply collapsed into bed and fell immediately to sleep.

When Kate's alarm went off just a few hours later at six a.m., she groaned and smacked at it four times until it actually stopped beeping. As she brushed her teeth and showered, she thought back to the events of the prior evening, and her annoyance with the situation immediately returned. She was right back there, fighting against the zip ties in a desperate attempt to free herself before the Hamptons PD arrived (a mission at which she failed miserably).

It was not the first time the suspect she'd been pursuing got the drop on her nor was it the first time a suspect had used her own weapon against her (though, fortunately the number of occurrences of that was in the low single digits). It was, however, the first time she had been tied to a chair.

In all honesty, Kate wasn't sure what irritated her more: the fact that she had to be freed by chuckling local cops making jokes about women not being as skilled in the field as men, or that she knew she would face endless ridicule and condescension from Banner once she was back in the FBI office.

The prior evening, after the Hamptons PD released her from her restraints, Kate went out onto the back deck of the home and found her cell phone resting on the railing. Unlocking the phone, she saw the last call dialed was to 911 and realized that her hostage taker had done exactly as he promised. Still irritated, she phone in to dispatch and apprised them of the situation. She was then instructed to wait until a Federal investigative team could arrive and search the home for evidence.

Kate waited dutifully in the house, watching as the Hamptons PD searched the premises. Naturally, they found nothing. She was not surprised. The house clearly was not currently being lived in and she'd watched Castle take the only thing of interest: the laptop computer. She warned the FBI team of this when they arrived, but they assured her they would do a full house sweep just in case the local law enforcement team missed something.

Not yet feeling the effects from her first cup of coffee, Kate arrived at the office on time and took a seat at her desk to find there was already a morning briefing packet waiting for her. One positive thing she could say with absolute certainty about working with the FBI over the NYPD was the ease of accessing information. For a government entity, their briefing packets were certainly detailed and prompt, which she appreciated.

Scanning the summary report, Kate learned that overnight several test results had come through regarding the double homicide of almost thirty-six hours prior. The blood by the sink at the detective's residence was confirmed to be that of Pamela Mackey, the first victim. The bullet striations on the slugs in their wounds matched each other as well as the gun found at the scene, confirming it was the weapon used in both crimes.

Kate was not surprised to learn either of these facts. The third test result, though, did perplex her. Gunshot residue tests performed at the scene confirmed that their suspect, Mr. Castle, had residue on his left hand, but not his right. Rubbing her chin with her index finger, Kate thought for a moment. Was Castle a righty or a lefty? The prior night when he was holding her gun, he held it in his right hand until he began to use the computer. To her, this indicated that he was right handed. Thus, it did not entirely make sense to her that gunshot residue was on his left—presumably non-dominant—hand only.

Another intriguing fact she found in the packet was the information regarding Castle's blood and urine sample analysis. Tests confirmed the BAC level of one point two and also showed no other foreign substances in either sample, thus poking more holes in Castle's tale of innocence.

Before she could think any further on the facts she had been provided, Kate was interrupted by Banner. "Ah, Beckett, I'm glad you weren't too _tied up_ to join us this morning." He smirked as he stood beside her desk, looking down at her.

Doing her best not to react facially or verbally to his jab, Kate forced a smile. "Well I thought about taking the day off, but then I realized I might be of some help."

"Yes, some help." Banner gave her a slight and obviously mocking smile. "Morning briefing in ten; don't be late."

When she joined her colleges in the conference room, she could feel all their eyes on her as she took a seat. She didn't mind a bit of teasing when it came to on the job performance. She was a big girl; she could handle it. After all, it had practically been mandatory at the NYPD. It did, however, add fuel to the already burning desire to apprehend the illusive writer as soon as humanly possible.

"Alright team," Banner said, taking his usual position at the back of the conference room, facing the wall on which the information projected. He flicked the remote towards the projector and Castle's mug shot appeared on the wall. "Our suspect, Mr. Castle, is still at large. He was last seen in the custody of our own Agent Beckett," Banner said, gesturing to Kate.

Annoyed, she cleared her throat. "Excuse me, sir, but he wasn't in my custody. If anything, I was in his."

"Right, that makes it better," another agent at the table muttered, causing a ripple of laughter.

"As Agent Beckett reported, Castle was last seen at his home in Southampton." Banner clicked the remote and a zoomed in map of the Southampton area appeared on the screen. Castle's home was marked with a red star. "The Hamptons PD and the FBI field team did a thorough sweep of the area, but unfortunately Mr. Castle was not found. We believe he may still be in the area, so we have alerted all local police departments to be on the lookout for him."

Banner then went around the room delegating tasks to each of the pairs of agents who were joining in the meeting. Finally, he said, "I will be conducting an interview of Mr. Castle's mother and daughter, both of whom live with him at his Manhattan residence. Dismissed!"

As the others left the meeting, Kate approached Banner and cleared her throat to catch his attention. His eyes fell on her and he sighed. "Right, Beckett. I forgot about you. Why don't-"

"Actually, sir, I was hoping to go with you on the interview." Kate did not feel her request out of line given that she was technically Banner's partner, though knew very well he more often viewed her as a nuisance than an asset. Given that, she also knew she occasionally needed to be a bit pushy when it came to her assignments. She liked to choose her moments so that he would be more apt to approve her idea rather than shoot it down, and this was one of those moments.

In response, Banner laughed at her—not a rolling laugh, but more a courtesy chuckle, as though one of his coworkers had told a mildly amusing joke and he was merely trying to be polite. "Agent Beckett, I'm sure you're not trying to imply that I am incapable of handling a family interview."

"Not at all, sir," Kate replied immediately. "I just thought I may be some help. After all, I am the only person on this team who has actually spoken with Mr. Castle."

Banner caressed his mustache with his forefinger and thumb as he thought. Kate noticed a few crumbs of what she assumed to be remnants of his breakfast fall to the ground as he did this and she suppressed a gag. "Very well," Banner concluded. "I guess you'd better come in case you might be useful."

Ignoring his implication that she would more than likely be useless, Beckett hurried back to her desk, grabbed her coat and joined Banner in the elevator on the way to the underground parking structure. It wasn't until they were out on the bustling Manhattan streets that Banner spoke again.

"You know, Beckett, I didn't really want to say anything to you in the meeting in front of everyone, but you really fucked this one up for us, you know? You made us look like fools in front of the Hamptons PD—the goddamn Hamptons PD!"

Kate glanced over to him, feeling not even the slightest singe from his comments. If anything, she found it amusing how whenever he criticized her performance, he always pointed out that he was doing her a favor by not doing it in front of their colleges, when, really, he did many other things in front of them that clearly indicated he thought she to be nothing more than an irritating child.

Deciding to play the part he clearly wanted her to, she sighed dramatically and dropped her chin. "I'm sorry sir. He got the drop on me and that was my mistake, but I made the best of the situation. If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at the Hamptons PD. At least 10 minutes passed between the time they were called and the time they arrived on scene. If they had arrived sooner, they would have been able to arrest Mr. Castle."

"Unless he overpowered them too," Banner muttered. "You gotta keep your head in the game, Beckett. This isn't the NYPD; we're not chasing purse snatchers and doggie kidnappers here. These are dangerous people."

This, she would not stand for. Kate Beckett's head was always in the game when she was in the field—always. "Sir, you are aware I worked homicide for five years, right?" Banner said nothing, so she continued. "I followed procedure and I called for backup, but without knowing when Mr. Castle would be leaving the residence, I had to make a judgment call. I decided to try and apprehend him myself. It didn't end as I planned, but we did learn something valuable."

Banner glanced at her sideways. "Which is…?"

"He's not dangerous; he's just running because he's scared."

"And what makes you think that?"

"He didn't take my gun," she said simply. "If he was planning on killing more people—more cops—there's no way he wouldn't have left that house armed, especially since he already had my gun in his possession. Instead, he left it."

Banner huffed into his mustache, but did not otherwise respond to her deduction.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at Castle's residence: a two-story loft on Broome Street towards the southern end of Manhattan. As they climbed into the elevator, Banner instructed Kate that he and he alone would be asking the questions and she was not to intervene—this was his investigation. Rolling her eyes, Kate followed him onto the appropriate floor and up to the door of Castle's apartment.

Banner knocked and tapped his foot impatiently. When the door opened, he announced them both to the red-headed, colorfully dressed woman who answered the door and introduced herself as Martha Rodgers, Castle's mother. Inside the apartment they met a teen girl, also with red hair and a porcelain complexion, who said her name as Alexis. Both women led them to the sitting area in the apartment.

As she sat on a chair beside the couch, Kate took a moment to glance around the apartment to see how the celebrity half lived. The major difference, Kate noted immediately, was space. For instance, the kitchen in Castle's apartment appeared to have room for more than one person to stand at a given time without those people touching in any way, which was more than she could say for her own kitchen. The apartment was also decorated with many eclectic and worldly pieces and, as expected, contained many, many books.

"First, I just want to thank you both for your time," Banner began as he sat on the chair opposite Kate. "I realize this must be a very trying time for you both."

"Well, yes, obviously. Thank goodness it's not every day my son is accused of murder. Most of the time he's doing that to other people," Martha said. Kate smiled slightly, but Banner remained expressionless. "You know…in his books," she clarified for him.

Banner grinned. "Ah yes. Now I know you both gave statements to the NYPD, but I just want to clarify a few things." He turned to Alexis and broadened his smile. "Now, uh, I don't mean to sound like the truant officer, but should you be in school Miss Castle?"

Kate resisted the urge to cover he face with her hands at his comment. From his tone, she almost expected Banner to tack the term "little tyke" on to the end of his question. Predictably, the girl, who Kate estimated to be around fifteen or sixteen, shot Banner a glare.

"Well, due to the media attention right now, I decided it would be best if Alexis stayed home at least until…until this is all resolved," Martha explained. Kate imagined she really wanted to say until Castle was brought back in to custody, though clearly as a mother that was not something she looked forward to. "Besides, Alexis can keep up with most her classes online."

"Sure, sure." Banner nodded. He pulled a pad of paper from the inside breast pocket of his jacket and gazed down at it. "Can you tell me the last time you saw your son?"

"Well it would have been in the morning two days ago—shortly before lunch—when I left for my audition. I did text him later that day to tell him I was going out to celebrate my callback, but he didn't respond to my text."

"And about what time did you text him?"

"Around five, I believe."

Banner jotted something down and then turned to Alexis. "And when did you last see your father?"

"When I came home from school," she said. "I asked if I could go over to Sarah's to work on a group project and he said I could."

"What time was this?"

"I left about four thirty, I guess."

"And what time did you get home?"

"Shortly after ten."

"Yes we both did," Martha interjected.

"And neither of you have spoken to Mr. Castle since then?" Banner asked. They shook their heads.

Kate watched Banner jot down a few more notes and then looked back at the women on the couch. As far as she could tell, their stories were consistent with Castle's. As she had been waiting for the FBI backup the night before, she had finally been able to read the full transcription from his NYPD interrogation.

"Perhaps," Banner began with a pained expression towards Alexis, "it would be best if we asked the next round of questions just to you, Mrs. Rodgers."

"It's Ms. Rodgers," she corrected with a sharp tongue, "and Alexis is sixteen; she can stay."

"It's just…" Banner leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "We're going to have to ask some very blunt questions and she might not want to be around to hear that."

"You can say or ask whatever you want," Alexis informed him, defiance showing in her tone. "I know my dad is innocent and nothing you can say will change that."

Kate smiled inwardly, her like for Castle's daughter growing instantly; the girl had spunk.

Martha cleared her throat and rested a gentle hand on the younger girl's upper back. "Alexis, dear, maybe it would be best if you went upstairs and checked in on your school email."

She turned to her grandmother, jaw agape. "But, Gran-"

"Alexis," Martha said, her tone even, but warning. "You don't want to fall behind on your school work."

With a perfectly teenage dramatic groan, Alexis stood from the couch, shot Banner one more glare for good measure and then stomped her way up the stairs, muttering audibly to herself.

"Thank you," Banner said to her. "I need to inform you that last night Agent Beckett had a run in with Mr. Castle." Banner gestured across the room in Kate's general direction, though he did not look at her.

Martha did look in Kate's direction and her tone immediately changed to one of utmost concern. "You saw Richard? Is he alright?"

Kate opened her mouth to respond, but before she could make a sound, Banner stepped in. "He took Agent Beckett hostage, Mrs. Rodgers."

Martha's head snapped in Banner's direction. "It's Ms." Then, turning to Kate, she said, "I do apologize Agent Beckett; I taught him better than that." Kate smiled and shook her head, brushing off the concern; she liked Martha, too. "Where did this happen? Where did you see him?"

Though Martha asked Kate the question, it was Banner who answered. "At his residence in the Hamptons. Do you have any ideas where your son might be hiding? Did he have any other places he went or stayed? Friends' houses maybe?"

Martha shook her head and wrung her hands together as she leaned forward on the couch. "No, none that I can think of. I gave the NYPD all the addresses for his publishers, agents and lawyers, but other than that I can't think anyone else. His ex-wife Gina, perhaps, though I very much doubt she'd take him in if he was on the run. They're not on the best of terms," she added to Kate. "Then again…maybe if he paid her a lot of money…"

For another half hour Banner questioned Martha, asking her over and over again where she thought her son might be, where he might be hiding and who might be hiding him. She consistently answered the same and as her tone grew increasingly short, Kate could tell Banner was also growing bored trying to trap her in a lie. It was Martha who snapped first, standing up and insisting she had told him absolutely everything that she knew.

"Very well," Banner said, standing as well and nodding towards Kate. "We appreciate your time and-"

"Just one more question, if you don't mind Ms. Rodgers," Kate said, interrupting Banner. She could feel his eyes boring into her, but she refused to look in his direction. Instead, she locked eyes with Martha, whose expression had relaxed into a more pleasant one. "I was wondering if you knew anything about the case Mr. Castle was researching with Tony Ciardi?"

Kate tensed her gut, waiting for Banner to interrupt, but he never did.

"No I'm sorry I don't. Was there a case?"

Kate nodded. "Yes, last night Mr. Castle said something implying that he and Detective Ciardi were working on a case together."

"Well I'm afraid I don't know anything about that. I'd tell you to check his laptop, but you probably already know that's missing," Martha said gesturing behind Kate. Kate turned and saw a doorway opening in the wall-to-wall bookcases through which a large desk could clearly be seen. She did, in fact, know that the laptop was missing; she had read that in the NYPD's report about their search of his residence.

"The only thing I know about Tony Ciardi is that Richard was using him as inspiration for his latest book character because they suspected that Tony's father was actually murdered instead of dying in some sort of traffic 'accident,'" Martha explained with air quotations.

Kate's gazed whipped back to her. "Tony's father was-"

"Well thank you for your time, Mrs. Rodgers," Banner interrupted, walking towards the apartment exit. "We'll be in touch if we have any more questions."

As he was already at the door, Kate was forced to scurry after Banner while giving the politest goodbye to Castle's mother she could manage in that situation. Out in the hall, she found Banner pressing the elevator call button incessantly until the doors opened with a ding and they were able to step inside. Once they closed, he turned on her.

"I specifically told you that I would be the one asking the questions, Agent Beckett!"

"And you did ask the questions," she replied. "But, as I said to you before we left, I'm the only one on our team who has spoken with Mr. Castle and last night-"

Banner scoffed. "Last night you heard the desperate ramblings of a guilty man."

"But Ms. Rodgers was giving us valuable information!"

"About what! Who cares about this Tony fellow anyway?"

Kate folded her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at Banner. "Are you suggesting that we should not care about the death of Detective Ciardi, a valued member of the NYPD?"

Banners flippant expression relaxed. "Of course not. The detective's murder was a tragedy, but who cares about they why now? We have more than enough physical evidence to put Mr. Castle away for both crimes. End of story, Beckett; end of story."

Kate decided to drop the point, knowing there would be no arguing with Banner, but she wholeheartedly did not agree with him. This was not the end of the story; not even close.


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

Back at her desk, Kate glanced mournfully at the paperwork piled in the plastic bins at the edge of her desk. When they arrived back at FBI headquarters, Banner told her in no uncertain terms that she was to sit at her desk and work on paperwork until their next debriefing meeting at three p.m. He, on the other hand, would be doing the much more important task of addressing the press about the status of the situation with Mr. Castle. Being that they knew no more about his whereabouts then than they had first thing in the morning, Kate imaged his address to the media would be filled with many plumbs of blowing smoke.

As she sat, her mind drifted back to her conversation with Castle's mother that morning. Martha's comment about the detective's father's death bothered her. What had she meant when she said the death wasn't an accident? What did that mean?

Thinking back further to the night before and her interaction with Castle, Kate began to review their conversation in her mind. At the time, she was mostly focused on two things: trying to free her hands or feet from their zip tie restraints and the location of her service weapon. Due to that deep concentration (particularly on the second item) she did not fully comprehend every word he was saying, especially when he was muttering to himself, but, now that she thought about it, she believed he may have mentioned Tony's father.

Kate decided what she really needed was more information on the whole situation. Fortunately, Castle had conveniently provided her with just that. Dipping her hand into her left coat pocket, she found the USB drive he had slipped her the night before. She slid off her chair, knelt down on the floor and plugged the drive in to the front USB port of her computer CPU. Back on her chair, she double clicked the new folder that appeared on her hard drive, and began to scan through the contents of the memory stick.

Kate found that the USB drive contained several word documents as well as a dozen PDF images. She double clicked on the first PDF and recognized it immediately as the scan of an NYPD criminal file. She closed it, opened another and found it was also a case file—a different case file. Impressed by his thoroughness, Kate double clicked the word file entitled "Anthony Ciardi, Sr" and began to read.

The document told the story of NYPD Detective Anthony Ciardi, Senior, who had been killed on May 5th almost exactly four years prior. The detective's car was T-boned in the middle of an intersection by a tow truck running a red light at a high speed. The detective was killed instantly. The driver of the truck had fled the scene and was never found. The truck had been reported stolen earlier that morning by a salvage yard in Queens; all employees of the salvage yard were accounted for at the time of the accident.

In addition to a summary about the incident and references to which PDFs held scans of the actual police file, Castle's document was flagged in multiple places with his own questions, most of which were not answered.

_Where was Ciardi Sr. going when he was hit? Why did no traffic cameras catch the truck driver running away? Why were there no prints left behind in the truck? Why could no witnesses accurately describe the driver?_

As Kate scrolled down through the document, she found Castle's own theories about the case.

_This was murder!_

· _No prints found in stolen truck – why wouldn't there have been prints from salvage yard employees? No prints on the truck door—would perp have wiped the door as he tried to flee? No!_

· _Traffic cam video shows suspect fleeing – no face visible. Why would he double back through traffic to escape instead of taking the clear path down 8__th__ ave?_

· _No witnesses? Impossible – other's vehicles were involved_

· _How do the drugs fit in?_

"What drugs?" Kate asked quietly to herself after reading the final bullet of his observations. Turning back to the folder containing all the documents Castle provided her, Kate skimmed the other file names. Another word document was entitled "Ciardi's cases." Curious, she double-clicked it open.

Skimming through it, Kate quickly found it was the companion document to most of the PDF scans in the file. The document was divided into sections by horizontal page breaking lines; the top of each section contained a file name. Intrigued, Kate opened the first referenced PDF and clicked through all the scans while skimming Castle's summary notes.

Though she initially thought the document's title—Ciardi's cases—referred to the deceased detective Castle allegedly murdered, she quickly realized that was not the case. All of these cases had been collected by Ciardi Senior as most of them had taken place five or more years prior, when the younger Ciardi was still at the police academy.

Kate skimmed through the eight case files and noted the common theme. Each case was for a drug arrest of varying severity. Some of the arrested men possessed the bare minimum amount of illegal substances to be charged with intent to distribute. Others possessed much more, including one who had over one hundred thousand dollars in cocaine in the trunk of his car at the time of arrest. The other common theme among the cases was that each one had been dropped before formal charges were laid due to mishandling of evidence by the NYPD. In most cases, the drugs had gone missing either from the evidence lockup or before they even reached there.

"What did you find, Castle?" Kate asked herself quietly as she clicked through all the police reports.

After skimming each of the scanned PDFs, there was only one unviewed file remaining in the folder. It was a Word document entitled simply "Notes." The top of the document held a paragraph, presumably summarizing his findings.

_Dirty cop (cops?) make drug arrests, evidence goes "missing", dirty cop makes money (sells drugs on own? Gets finder's fee from drug dealers?). Good cop (Ciardi) uncovers their nefarious plot, threatens to turn them in? Dirty cop decides to take him out—kills him in a crash that looks like a hit and run accident._

Below the paragraph were a series of dated notes, making the document appear more like a journal. It cataloged Castle's and Detective Ciardi's searches through the case files, through the file of the senior Ciardi's accident, and through any evidence they could get their hands on. When Kate reached the final entry, dated just one week before, the blood practically seized in her veins.

_March 28__th__ – Tony believes he found witness from reports. Didn't tell me her name, only that she lives in New Jersey. Trying to contact her, but hasn't returned his phone calls. Drop in for a visit next week?_

Kate reread the last sentence and brought her left hand up to cover her mouth. She knew that it was possible the sentence meant nothing. It was merely a coincidence. Hell, for all she knew, Castle typed that last sentence in his note file before she arrived at the Hamptons home (though given that it would only incriminate him further, that seemed unlikely). But the cop in her knew true coincidences were exceedingly rare, and this probably wasn't one of those cases.

Her mind was spinning. She had taken in too much, too many different cases over too short of a period of time. She needed to go through everything again, methodically and making her own notes if she had to.

She quickly pressed the Quick Print shortcut at the top of each word document and hurried to the community printer to grab the sheets before anyone else saw what she was working on. Normally, she was one for going paper free, and actually appreciated her email calendar more than a paper one. However, when she was trying to think through something, she often found writing down the notes helped her process information better.

Holding the papers tight to her chest, Kate scurried back to her desk, feeling almost as though she was holding illicit documents. In a way, she was. If Castle's research was correct—which she was not yet sold on—but if it was correct then he had uncovered something very deep and very dangerous. Thus, she knew it was best for her to keep the information to herself for the time being.

Kate moved her keyboard back to give herself room to spread the documents out before her. She found the last journal entry of Castle's and wrote "Pamela Mackey?" beside it in red pen. Then, she moved back to the first document—the one about Ciardi Senor's death—and began to read and underline key points.

Before she was able to read much further than the first paragraph, Banner interrupted her by announcing their briefing meeting was in five minutes. Kate joined the others in the conference room and found the projector displaying crime scene photos from the Detective's apartment and from the home of Pamela Mackey. Kate gazed at them curiously for a moment before the image disappeared and Castle's mug shot replaced it.

"Alright everyone, settle down," Banner said, calling the meeting to order. "I wish I had some better news for you all this afternoon, but our suspect is still unfortunately at large. With this evening's news, we will be releasing the notification that a reward will be provided for any tips leading to Mr. Castle's arrest.

"In the meantime, I wanted to give you some updates. The ME has confirmed time of death for Ms. Mackey between the hour of eight and nine p.m. and Detective Ciardi between eleven p.m. and midnight. I've complied all of our evidence into one electronic file, which is on the local network for everyone to access. I know this case pretty much closes itself, but you never know—maybe one of you will see something that leads us right to the bastard!"

Banner dismissed the meeting and Kate returned to her desk on autopilot since her mind was distracted by the information Banner provided in the meeting. Something about the time of death bothered her, but she could not quite put her finger on it. To quell her questioning gut, Kate turned to the network files and began sifting through the crime scene photos.

She clicked through dozens of photos, many of the same area of the apartment, just from different angles. The gun as it lay on the floor. The detective's body from every conceivable angle. A cell phone on the table. A shoe print near the front door. Blood droplets on the kitchen counter by the sink.

Kate immediately stopped clicking through photos and left the blood droplet photo on her screen. The blood droplet was small, but distinct. It did not look watered down or as a result of splashing from hand washing. She was not an expert in blood spatter analysis, but had always found the science intriguing, so she knew more than her fair share.

The distinct blood droplet, which had been confirmed as Pamela Mackey's, sitting atop Detective Ciardi's countertop did not make sense to her. Even at that hour of the night, it would have taken the killer almost half an hour to travel from Mackey's home in Jersey City to Ciardi's apartment. Even if the killer had picked up wet blood on his way out of the apartment and then gone immediately to the sink in Ciardi's kitchen, the odds of the blood being still wet enough to drip on the counter in that time period seemed unlikely.

Kate leaned back in her chair and thought about the other strange fact from the case she'd picked up the day before: the gunshot residue on Castle's left hand. Kate scrolled back to the pictures and found the one showing the gun lying on the floor. If Castle woke up as he described—lying on the floor with his feet facing the body—the gun would have been just out of reach of his left hand. This was consistent with the GSR; however, Castle was right handed and it did not make sense that with no evidence of a struggle, he would use his non-dominant hand to shoot the gun.

She continued to absentmindedly scroll through the photos until the one of Castle's mug shot popped up in front of her. She stared into his ice blue eyes, the same eyes that had looked into hers the night before and assured her of his innocence. "You didn't do this, did you?" she sighed quietly.

"Beckett!"

Kate actually jumped when Banner's booming tone interrupted her thoughts. "Y-yes, sir?"

"Here," Banner said, slamming a pile of papers down on her desk with such force that the air current resulting caused her notes to skitter across her desk and onto the floor. "Look through these interview requests and pick two or three of the most prestigious sounding ones for me to do tomorrow. None of those local cable channels, alright? Network only."

"Yes, sir." Kate stated emotionlessly. Once he'd gone, she scooped up her fallen papers and set them back on her desk. Glancing at Castle's mug shot again, she shook her head and closed the window. She needed a break and had only just then realized how starving she was, as she had not eaten lunch.

After locking her computer, Kate grabbed her purse and headed out of the office to retrieve a take-out salad for her dinner. As she walked, her mind spun about Castle's case.

The night before when she was zip tied to the chair and he maintained his innocence, she briefly wondered if his proclamation of non-guilt was a sincere one. To her, it seemed genuine as he did not display any of the markers of lying. This, however, was not a guarantee because she had seen many a psychopath fully adept in same way. Her gut, however, told her he was telling the truth.

Many years before, her training officer at the NYPD taught her all about the mythical being that was her gut. Her gut, he told her, would be ten times smarter than she could ever hope to be and she needed to learn to listen to it. Her gut, like Jiminy Cricket, would be her guide.

As Kate walked down the bustling streets of New York, her gut told her that not only was Castle innocent of the double homicide of which he was accused, but that he and the young detective had uncovered something much, much larger than a few conveniently misplaced pieces of evidence. Did they even realize the magnitude of what they found? Possibly not, but Kate certainly needed to.

Back at her desk, plastic fork in hand, Kate thought through the case as she ate. She needed to travel in to the fuzzy and gray world of hypotheticals, a world that she did not enjoy living in, but occasionally became necessary when thinking through a case. Hypothetical number one, she decided, would be the assumption that Castle did not commit either murder. If that was the case, then his own theory—that he was being frame—seemed plausibly accurate.

Who, she wondered, was the framer? Other than a few question mark raising things, the framer had done an excellent job at giving a sufficient amount of evidence leading directly to Richard Castle. To her, this meant that the framer would have an expanse of legal knowledge. Did this mean the framer was a cop or another law enforcement official? Possibly, but it also could have been someone who watched every _CSI_ episode available and spent an uncharacteristically large amount of time on the internet.

Thus far, the FBI and NYPD had only uncovered evidence that pointed to Mr. Castle as their suspect. There had been no other prints found at the crime scenes. No witnesses had come forward saying that they saw any suspicious people around either scene (though, in fairness, no one had come forward to identify Mr. Castle at the scenes either). Without any evidence to go on, finding a potential framer would be near impossible.

After finishing her salad, Kate wondered if perhaps she was looking in the wrong place. Perhaps to solve the murders of Detective Ciardi Junior and Pamela Mackey, she needed to start at the beginning: with the death of Detective Ciardi Senior.

She shuffled through the papers on her desk until she came to the page she'd printed out from Castle's notes about Ciardi's traffic accident. Reading through the page, her eyes were drawn to his first bullet point of observation: the lack of fingerprints in the stolen tow truck.

Kate propped her left elbow on her desk and rested her chin in her palm as she thought. No fingerprints in a stolen vehicle did seem exceedingly odd. So odd, in fact, she wondered why the detective's investigating the case four years earlier had not highlighted it more prominently in their report.

In her experience, those who stole cars were not intelligent enough to wipe down the prints from the steering wheel, the radio buttons, or the door handle let alone all three locations. Even if they did manage to wipe down the surfaces they'd touched, usually the vehicle's owners prints were found somewhere else in the vehicle, like on the dash or gear shift. In this case, not one single print was found within the stolen tow truck.

Even odder was the fact that there were no prints in the car when the thief hastily escaped after the accident. Given that there were no prints found even on the door handle, she could only assume that the thief had been wearing gloves. This, while unusual, would not have been unheard of, but if the thief was wearing gloves, why wouldn't there have been prints from the tow truck's owners in the vehicle?

Kate could not answer that question, but hoped that someone at the salvage yard that owned the tow truck at the time it was stolen could provide some clues. True, four years after the incident it was a long shot, but it was a place to start. She found the name of the salvage yard listed in the original police report of the Detective's accident. A quick Google search revealed they were still in business and were open until six that evening. Glancing at the clock on her computer screen, she believed she would just make it to Queens in time.

Checking a car out of the motor pool took irritatingly longer than Kate expected it to, making her more anxious about making it on time. As she pulled out of the Midtown Tunnel, a few splashes of liquid hit her windshield and she muttered under her breath; rain certainly would not help the traffic situation. Though the sky grew darker as she drove, the precipitation remained steady but light enough for the slowest setting on the windshield wipers to be sufficient.

Kate arrived in the semi-industrial area at 6:02 according to the vehicle clock. Silently hoping it was running a bit fast, she drove around the block behind the salvage yard. Knowing that a black sedan with tinted windows and government plates tended to make people—even innocent parties—suspicious and thus unwilling to provide information, she parked her car around the block and decided to hoof it to the salvage yard.

She blinked raindrops out of her eyes and she walked swiftly down the abandoned sidewalk. A solid, ten foot high fence to her left blocked her view of the salvage yard. Across the street to her right stood two warehouse-style buildings each a half a block in length, both of which appeared abandoned. In the distance, she could hear the squeal of tires as though a car took a corner too fast. Subconsciously, her right hand drifted towards her hip holster.

Brushing her fingertips across her rain-dampened forehead, Kate sped her pace as she approached the entrance to the salvage yard. Much to her relief, it appeared the gates to the yard were still propped open. About a hundred feet before she reached the entrance, she thought she heard footsteps approaching and looked behind her. Finding no one there, she turned her gaze forwards once more and spotted a vehicle—perhaps a pickup truck or large SUV—approaching. The car would not have struck her as unusual, except it appeared to be traveling at a high rate of speed, which seemed unnecessary given the open streets and non-existent traffic.

Ignoring the approaching truck, Kate slowed her pace just as she came to the break in the sidewalk where the entrance to the salvage yard was. When she peered around the corner of the gate, her attention was drawn back to the approaching vehicle when it revved its engine. She looked towards the street just in time to see the passenger window of the truck roll down and the muzzle of a gun appear.

That's when she heard the gunfire.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I'm so glad that you guys are enjoying this and enjoying the suspense. Though I've written dozens of stories before, this was my first attempt at a real suspense/mystery, so I'm thrilled you guys like it so much! :) Thank you for all the reviews!_

* * *

**Six**

Just as Kate was making the decision to flatten herself to the ground, she found she was already there and something heavy was resting atop her. The bullets blasted into the wooden fence behind her causing splinters to rain down. She covered her eyes and waited for the debris to hit the ground before attempting to scramble to her feet. The weight on top of her hindered her ability to get up so much that by the time she was on her feet, pistol ready in her hands, the truck had already disappeared around the corner.

Cursing under her breath, Kate turned around to see a man climbing off the ground, brushing off the knees of his jeans and the tops of his shoulders as he did so. When their gazes met, they exclaimed in unison, "What are you doing here?!"

For a beat, they stared at each other. Then, Kate asked. "Well?"

"I asked you first," Castle replied.

"And I'm the one with the gun!" She gauntleted the weapon in her fists, feeling for the first time the damp gravel in her palms digging in as she squeezed the metal and trained the muzzle on her suspect. In truth, she did not find him all that dangerous, but her actions were simply protocol.

Castle raised his hands in a defensive stance but before he could respond verbally, the sound of an approaching engine could be heard and Kate whipped towards the noise, turning her gun on the street. "C'mon," Castle said. "We've got to get out of here before they come back."

"No," she said, not looking at him. "I came to talk to the people at the salvage yard."

"I was just in there; nobody's there. They must have just left the gate open."

Kate glanced over her shoulder at him. "Yeah? And how do I know you're not just saying that when really there are a few more bodies in there."

He pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side as he looked at her as if to say "Really?"

Kate did not get a chance to respond because, with the squeal of tires, she could see headlights approaching quickly, perhaps three or four blocks in the distance. "C'mon!" Castle grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her backwards. "This way."

"My car's the other way," she said, though she did follow him at a hurried pace.

"Yes, but if we go there, you'll just arrest me." Castle explained. The other end of the block was much closer than the one Kate originated from and they reached it in just under ten seconds at their pace.

As she hopped down from the curb, Kate glanced briefly behind her; the SUV was gaining on them. "This way!" she said, taking the lead over her male companion. She raced across the street towards what appeared to be an abandoned gas station. The convenience store portion of the station seemed to be well secured with metal fencing and gates and thus inaccessible. The plywood-boxed in gas pump area, however, would provide emergency cover.

Her calves beginning to burn from her sudden dead sprint in heels, Kate reached the edge of the safe area and dove behind it, lowering herself into as low of a crouch as she could manage. Despite her feet slipping against the greasy, damp asphalt, she inched around to the far side of the plywood box and turned her gun around the corner. If the SUV spewed more bullets as it passed, this time she would be ready.

Still breathing heavily, Kate tensed her hands on the gun and braced her forearm against the edge of the plywood. Several seconds passed as the noise from the vehicle grew louder. Finally, it crossed into her view, but as quickly as it came, it was gone. Fortunately, it also disappeared without any gunfire.

Taking a sharp breath in and breathing out slow in attempt to diffuse the adrenaline coursing through her body, Kate rolled back so her spine lined up with the back of the plywood box. She glanced to her left and saw that her suspect was crouched beside her in as tight of a ball as he could constrict himself into. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut as though he was waiting for an impending explosion. For a moment, she was surprised to see him there, figuring he would have taken the opportunity of her divided attention to escape, but it appeared he had not.

"C'mon," she said, clambering to a standing position. "Let's get out of here before they come back."

He opened one eye at a time and looked at her. Taking her upright stance as a sign the imminent danger had passed, he stood as well and scurried out of the gas station parking lot and back across the street towards the salvage yard.

As they came to the center of the road, Kate spotted a tan, mostly rusted, mid-nineties Toyota she hadn't noticed before. Castle stopped his jog beside the driver's door and looked at her. "Get in."

Kate held her gun at her right side and looked at him suspiciously. She turned her gaze to the car and then looked at him again. He sighed, rounded his shoulders and rested his hands on the car's roof. "Oh come on—if I was going to hurt you I would have just let those guys shoot you. Besides, you still have your gun, right?"

Before she could respond, the sound of squealing tires could be heard again, and Castle beckoned her with the frantic wave of his hand. "C'mon, c'mon—before they come back!"

Kate conceded to his point and decided that if she was given the choice between the drive-by shooters and him, a possible felon, he did seem the better option in that particular moment. Walking over to the passenger side, she pulled open the door while asking, "Where the hell'd you even get this car? Does it run?"

"Barely," he said, answering her second question first. "And my lawyer got it for me. He paid cash; it was cheap."

"Clearly."

He looked over to her as the engine coughed before turning over. "Yes I already know it's a far cry from my Ferrari."

As the car started off down the block, Kate glanced behind them. Seeing no one was following, she requested, "Take me to my car, please; it's just around the block."

"Are you going to arrest me?" he asked without looking at her.

Kate glanced over and studied his face, purposely letting silence fill the vehicle for a few moments. His hair, damp from the rain, was mashed down against his forehead. A few streaks of dirt could be seen on his cheek where he presumably rubbed his skin with dirt he picked up from the sidewalk. He did not look much like a typical fugitive. Instead, he looked like an ordinary man who was having an exceedingly terrible day. When he looked at her and seemed genuinely concerned, she smiled and put him out of his misery. "No. You saved my life; I think you get a pass—this time."

For the first time since she'd met him, she saw him smile. "So you think I'm innocent."

She cleared her throat and faced forward in the car. "What I think is irrelevant—I'm bound by where the evidence leads me."

"And if the evidence is wrong?"

Kate said nothing and, fortunately, they turned on to the block on which her vehicle was parked a moment later. Just as Castle completed the left turn, she heard a clap of thunder overhead and the rain falling on the windshield increased in pace. "There," she said, pointing towards the black sedan on the side of the road. "You can just-"

"Uh oh," Castle said in a sing-song tone, just as she thought the same words. He was still three car lengths back from her vehicle, but even from that distance it was plain: the front passenger side window of the vehicle was smashed out. When Castle eased his car up behind hers, she also noticed the vehicle was sitting atypically low. Upon further examination, it seemed at least two of the four tires were slashed.

"Well," Castle said, slamming his vehicle into park, "now we have a problem."

Resting her elbow against the car door and her head against her hand she sighed. "You don't say."

"Well _I_ have a problem," her clarified. "If you call for backup they'll arrest me, but I cannot in good conscience leave you here to wait for backup alone, especially not when those trigger-happy thugs could be lurking about."

Kate turned her head towards him, notably surprised. She imagined most felons in his position upon given a free escape pass would have kicked her out of the car and sped off so quickly that tire tracks and a cloud of smoke would have been the only thing left in a matter of seconds. Yet, there he sat wondering what was best for her. Interesting. "Will you give me a ride?"

He turned his head to her. "To FBI headquarters? Unlikely."

"To my apartment."

Castle considered this for a moment. "Won't someone see us together?"

She chuckled. "I'm not the one who's a fugitive, Mr. Castle; no one is watching me." He nodded, conceding to this point, and moved his hand towards the gearshift. "Wait," she stopped him. "I can't leave my purse in car with the windows shot out of it."

She moved her hand to the door handle, but before she touched it, he'd already popped his open. "Let me; so you don't get wet."

"My purse is behind the driver's seat. Oh and my spare gun—in the glove box." He waved his hand in acknowledgement and stepped out of the car, hunching his shoulders and shoving his hands in his pockets because of the rain.

Only when she was alone in the car did Kate realize she still held her gun. She rolled onto her left hip so she could holster it once more. Then, as her hands left it, she looked up at Castle through the wind shield. He was leaning through the broken passenger window instead of opening the door to the vehicle. Unable to resist the urge, she rolled her eyes.

A minute later and significantly wetter, Castle returned and passed over her purse and weapon. She thanked him and set the purse in her lap to unzip it. As she slipped the gun inside, she realized that he'd handed it over to her instead of using it against her. Not only that, she'd requested that he retrieve it without even a second though. She shook her head as she put the weapon inside her bag; evidently her subconscious had no reservations about his innocence.

"So, back to Manhattan?" he asked, pulling the Toyota away from her wrecked vehicle.

"Yes, Tribeca."

"So…," he began once they were on their way back towards the island. "Why did you go to the salvage yard?" He heard a rustling of paper and, when he reached a red light, he looked over and saw her displaying a packet of papers she'd presumably pulled from her purse. "My notes! You read my notes!"

"Don't act so surprised, Mr. Castle. I, too, am a woman of my word."

He looked over to her and they exchanged smiles before traffic started moving again. "So if you read everything you must see—you must see I'm being framed!"

"I will concede that a lot of things in this case don't make sense. You're right handed, aren't you?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because gunshot residue was only found on your left hand—as though you shot both victims with your left hand only," she informed him. "Plus the blood evidence doesn't make any sense. Not to mention that you have no real motive to kill either of them."

"Was I drugged?" he asked. "Did you get the results of my tox screen back yet?" When he glanced over to see her arched eyebrow he added, "What? I know police stuff. They took samples at the scene and I figured they were going to test it."

"Your tox screen came back clean. The only substance in your body at the time of your arrest was alcohol, but I assume you already knew that."

Castle grumbled under his breath, obviously displeased with her answer, but said nothing loud enough for her to hear. She sat silently for a moment before she realized that while they were in the same space together, there was something she absolutely needed to ask him. "Mr. Castle-"

"You can call me Rick, you know," he informed her. "Or just Castle. No need to be so formal."

She smiled gently. "Okay, Castle—do you remember the last note you made? About Detective Ciardi possibly finding a witness in New Jersey who wouldn't return his phone calls?"

"Yeah, I remember. Why?"

"Did you ever find out the witnesses name?"

He shook his head. "No, Tony never told me. I do know he got a hold of her though. He said she agreed to meet him."

"When?"

"I don't know…" He groaned and raked one hand through his hair. "The past few days…I was so busy editing my novel I didn't really get a chance to talk to Tony that much. Now, I…I feel really bad about it. That's all I know; I'm sorry."

"No, it's alright," she responded automatically. "I just…I was thinking…what if that witness was Pamela Mackey?"

"Who?"

"The other victim—the other person you ki—you were accused of killing."

He glanced over at her. "Nice save." She felt her cheeks begin to heat, but made no other comment to the fact. "Who is she, by the way? I mean, was she connected to Tony in any way?"

"Not that we know. She had his name written on a note on her fridge, but that's the only connection. I think they're still running phone records. She was a hairdresser in Jersey City."

Castle shrugged and shook his head, indicating that did not help him identify her in any way. As they crossed into Manhattan and the rain began to slow, he asked, "So, if you read my notes, did you see all the case files? The ones with the missing drugs?"

"Yes—how did you come up with that?"

"It was Tony," he told her. "He's the one that brought that stuff to me. Did you see it? Do you think there's a dirty cop involved."

"Maybe. To be honest, I didn't take that close a look at all the files. I actually just went right to the death of Detective Ciardi Senior. That was the piece of the puzzle that made the least sense, especially since-"

"-they found no finger prints in the truck," he finished for her. When he looked over at her, he saw she was smiling. "Well, I'm glad there's at least one person in the FBI who's not a total trained monkey. So what's next, Agent Beckett?"

"As long as we're not being formal, you can call me Kate," she told him. "And, I guess I need to keep looking into this—as long as I don't get shot at again."

"They could have been shooting at me, you know; I was standing right there at the entrance to the salvage yard."

Kate nodded and considered this a moment. "Do you have some place to stay?"

He gave her a sideways glance and she could tell he gripped the wheel a bit tighter. "I'm not telling you where."

She grumbled. "Jeez I'm not going to send SWAT or anything. I just want to make sure it's…you know…" She let her voice drift off without finishing her thought, which had originally been a concern for his safety.

"Why, Agent Beckett, your concern is touching, but I'll be fine if that's what you're worried about. Though, really, if you ask me, you need to be more worried about yourself. You should take your partner along the next time you go to sketchy places near abandoned warehouses."

Kate laughed loudly. "My partner doesn't give a shit about me. He just wants to collar you and get his pension."

He looked over to her. "Maybe you need a new partner."

Kate tensed and stared out the window, realizing for the first time that she was being a bit too candid with a murder suspect. "Look, I appreciate the ride and you saving me from being riddled with bullets and all, but this doesn't change anything. If the evidence leads me to you, I will have to arrest you; that's the law."

"Funny—I imagine the law would be pretty clear about you arresting me right about now," Castle pointed out. She said nothing. "You wanna give me an address since we're almost to Tribeca."

"The corner of Church and Chambers, please."

"You know you might not want me to drop you off right at your building just in case….oh, you already thought of that," he said when he saw her pointed stare. A few minutes later, he pulled the car to the side of the road at the closest free space to that intersection. "Don't worry, Agent Beckett, I know you're just trying to do your job. I should just be grateful I'm not in cuffs right now, right?" he said with a bitter laugh.

Softening her gaze, she looked over to him. "I will keep looking through the notes you gave me to see if anything else pops."

He nodded to her. "I appreciate that. Goodnight, Agent Beckett."

Kate shouldered her purse and opened the car door. "Goodnight and thanks again for the ride." With that, she stepped out of the car and walked down Chambers Street without ever looking back; she did not want to be tempted into discovering the direction in which he disappeared.


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

The following morning as she stood in her kitchen waiting for her English muffin to toast, Kate reviewed the previous night's events in her mind. Upon arriving home, she phoned in the location of her wrecked cruiser to central dispatch, informing them that she'd taken a cab after she heard gunshots in the area. The woman in charge of the motor pool seemed skeptical of her story, especially when Kate would give no more detail about why her cruiser was in that particular area other than that she was following a lead on the Castle case.

The law abiding side of her was not overly thrilled with her decision to accept a ride home from the man she was supposed to be arresting, but the investigator in her saw no harm in it. After their conversation, she was more convinced than ever of Castle's innocence. He most certainly was not a calculating criminal, but yet he was smart and she believed if he truly thought he was guilty he, like any man, would have used every opportunity to escape and save himself, which did not include ensuring the safety of the federal investigator trying to make an arrest.

Still, what she had done had broken the law. If anyone at the FBI found out about her actions, not only would her badge be taken from her, but she would be charged with aiding and abetting a fugitive not to mention obstructing justice. She would keep her promise to Castle—she would keep investigating—but she needed to do so with extreme caution.

Fortunately for Kate, her so called partner did not seem to care very much about her whereabouts. All he asked her when she arrived was if she had chosen which interviews would be most beneficial to the agency. She pulled the first three network interviews she found in the stack and handed them to him. He seemed please, and that was all she cared about; she needed him out of her way.

Thinking over the previous night's events, she could hardly believe that the attempted shooting was accidental and unrelated to the murders Castle was accused of. She had not reported the incident as doing so would have required her to explain to Banner why she was at the salvage yard in Queens and she was not yet ready to give up that information. Not reporting it meant she was on her own to investigate, but that was alright; she preferred that to being tied down to a partner, especially one like Banner.

The first thing Kate needed to determine was the target of the shooting. Was it herself or Castle? As a mid-level FBI agent, she could hardly believe herself as the target, especially since her name had not appeared in the press or in any investigative notes thus far. This left Castle as the intended target.

If he was indeed framed for the murder, it seemed plausible that whoever framed him also did the drive by shooting, but why, she wondered, would they do that? If they were smart—and they clearly were given their high degree of planning—they would not kill Castle. Killing Castle left the door open to investigate who murdered a high profile escaped felon. Killing Castle would actually create more problems for him. No, the smart decision would be to let the FBI capture him and put him on trial for the murder. So why shoot at him?

"Unless they were trying to scare him," she commented quietly.

If scaring him was the goal, what else would they be doing to intimidate him? What else had they done?

Kate decided it would be possible that Castle's mother and daughter might be able to give her some insight into the answer to that question. Perhaps they'd noticed someone hanging around their apartment. Or maybe not someone, but something: a repair van or delivery truck that seemed out of place. If she could find a person or a vehicle then maybe she could trace them to whoever was trying to frame Castle.

Not bothering to tell anyone where she was going, Kate left her desk and went directly to the motor pool, where she received attitude from the attendant for requesting a new vehicle when her was still being repaired from the night before. Kate was forced to sweet talk the woman and play the innocent victim card, saying she was just trying to help find the fugitive the city was searching for and she had a really good lead—she just knew it was a good lead! Ultimately, the woman caved, and Kate set off once again towards Broome Street.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Ms. Rodgers," Kate said when she walked into Castle's loft. "I just had a few more questions."

Martha nodded and gestured towards the seating area. "Of course. Whatever you need Agent…I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Beckett. Kate Beckett," Kate informed her. "Is, uh, Mr. Castle's daughter here? I'd like to ask you both some questions, if you don't mind."

Martha's face brightened. "Oh, yes of course; of course. Let me get her. Please, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?"

Kate turned her down politely before walking over to the seating area and sitting in the same chair she'd used the day before. She only had to wait a moment before the young girl and her grandmother were descending the stairs. Kate stood when they approached and shook the younger girl's hand. "I don't want to take you from your schoolwork for too long; this should only take a few minutes."

"I won't complain about the break," Alexis said with a laugh.

Kate smiled at her. "I was wondering if either of you had seen anyone around your apartment in the past few weeks—anyone suspicious. A repairman who looked out of place perhaps?"

Martha thought for a moment, staring across the apartment towards the office but then shook her head. "No, sorry; I don't think so."

"Me either," Alexis added.

"What about a repair truck or van? A delivery service? Anything you saw more than once?"

Again, the women answered in the negative. "What is this about, Agent Beckett? Do you have a new lead on my son?"

Kate considered them a moment: the worried faces of a woman wondering about her child and a young girl about her father. Alexis, she noted, had the same ice blue eyes as her father. She twisted a ring round and round on her thumb as she waited for Kate's response. Martha, on the other hand, fingered a locket around her neck, skimming the chain through her index finger and thumb.

Kate cleared her throat before continuing. "I, ah, I saw Mr. Castle last night while I was looking into a lead."

Martha reached over and grabbed Alexis's hand. "Really? You saw him?"

"Yes, but, ah," she dipped her eyes towards the floor. "He ran off before I could arrest him."

When Kate looked back up, she saw Martha had an eyebrow raised in her direction. "Really? You look like you could outrun him."

Kate let out a breathy laugh and nodded, considering what portion of the truth she would reveal to them just in case they would speak to another Federal officer. "The truth…the truth is he saved me from being shot so…" She shrugged her shoulders. "A favor for a favor, I suppose."

Martha clapped both of her hands against her knees. "Well I'm glad to see there is finally someone in law enforcement who believes that my son is innocent."

Kate sat upright and immediately rebutted. "I never said that I-"

"Yes, but a sharp girl like you," Martha pointed a finger in Kate's direction, "you would have brought him in if you thought he was guilty, saving your life or not."

Kate could feel the blush rising in her cheeks. Castle's mother certainly had pegged her. "Well, to be quite honest, there are pieces of his case that don't make any sense."

"You mean the part where he killed two people?" Alexis interjected. "My dad would _never_, ever—he doesn't even like to kill spiders!" she insisted.

"I'm sure he doesn't," Kate said, smiling at the girl, "but, unfortunately, there is a lot of evidence stacked against him. I'm actually…I'm actually trying to work another case—the death of Detective Ciardi's father."

Martha blinked at her, her brow furrowing. "But…but what does that have to do with Richard?"

"Castle believes the cases may be connected."

"And do you?"

Kate gave no other reaction except to say, "It's a place to start—oh, excuse me," she added when her cell phone rang. She pulled the phone from her jacket pocket and walked to the entry way to take the call.

"Agent Beckett? Where are you?" Agent Ling demanded on the other end of the line.

"I'm, ah," Kate glanced towards Castle's family, "following a lead."

"Well Banner needs you to get to Queens right away! He's flipping out, wondering where you are."

"Queens?" She asked, her heart rate beginning to speed. "Why?"

"A tipster called in and said that Castle is staying at a by-the-hour motel there and Banner wants to bring him in. He said he needs all hands on deck so Castle doesn't get away this time."

"Damn it," Kate said under her breath. This was not how things were supposed to go; she needed more time. "Okay," she said into the receiver. "Text me the address and I'll meet the team there."

When Kate turned around, both red-headed women were standing and staring at her. "What is it? Have they found Richard?"

"I-I'm sorry; I have to go. Thank you for your time," Kate stated simply before turning and walking out of the apartment. She'd hardly made it three steps when she heard a rush of footsteps behind her.

"Agent Beckett!" Castle's daughter called after her. Halfway to the elevator, Kate stopped and turned around. "Please, Agent Beckett, don't let them hurt my dad. He didn't do this—I promise you. He's a really good guy and a really great dad."

Kate's heart broke for the girl and she gave her a nod. "I promise I will try to help your dad in any way I can." She turned to leave, but Alexis took two steps closer.

"It's just…I know I have Gran, but," she lowered her eyes and she stood right next to Kate, "he's the only parent I have left and I really don't want anything to happen to him."

"I understand," Kate told her adding silently to herself, _more than you know._ "I'm sorry; I really do have to go." With that, she turned and hurried towards the elevator.

The White Sands Motel in Queens, barely a stone's throw from JFK, was not exactly what one would consider a four star hotel. In fact, upon sight of it, Kate wondered if it even warranted a quarter star, or if that would have been generous. It was your run-of-the-mill, pay-by-the-hour, hot sheet motel. One of those places you just knew taking one sweep of a backlight through the room would resonate a glow halfway down the block.

Kate shivered at that mental image as she parked her cruiser on the side of the road around the corner from the motel, just a few dozen feet from where the rest of the FBI team was mobilizing. Banner was addressing the crowd when she arrived, and by the way he was talking, there was no false hope; this was the real deal.

She felt a brick settle in her gut at she pulled on her FBI issue bullet proof vest. She knew all too well how raids like this could go—how badly they could go. After hearing the pleas of Castle's daughter not twenty minutes earlier, Kate did not want to have to be the one to tell Castle's family that it had all gone wrong. Worse yet, she did not wish to witness the grave injury (or worse) of a falsely accused man.

As the team gathered, Kate stood towards the back, craning her neck to get a good view of the hotel. Banner announced that the tip had been called in by the front desk clerk and that Mr. Castle was staying in a room at the far end of the motel. As they approached in their protocol-sanctioned group, she spotted the rusted Toyota in the furthest space in the lot and cursed under her breath.

While the team moved forward, movement to the right of the motel caught her eye. Behind a row of dumpsters she noticed a head of brown hair disappearing and somehow she just knew. "Idiot," she muttered, not sure if she was cursing Castle or herself, for as soon as she could do so unnoticed, she broke off from the FBI team and headed in the direction of the dumpsters.

Using parked cars and a sad excuse for a wood fence as cover, she made her way to the row of three side-by-side dumpsters remarkably unseen. Squinting due to the midday sun, she slipped behind the first dumpster and blinked rapidly to adjust her eyesight. She found him crouched in the middle of the dumpster row and facing away from her. Turning her front to the metal bins and her back to the dilapidated wood fence, she sidled her way towards him and waited until she was a foot away before saying, "Hanging out?"

He jumped, smacked his head on the dumpster, and then cursed loudly as he rubbed it. "Kate! Ahh!" He winced as his hand came in contact with a tender spot. "How'd they find me?"

"Tipster called it in."

He groaned and dropped his chin to his chest. "I knew I should have paid that desk clerk more. Alright well I guess…I guess you don't have a choice now do you?" He sighed, stood, and held both of his arms straight out in front of him, wrists together.

Kate instinctively moved her hand behind her back towards her cuffs, but before she reached them she paused. She looked at his face and into his eyes, the ones that matched his daughters. She took one deep breath and, without bothering to weigh the pros and cons of her decision, grabbed her service piece instead of the cuffs. "Here."

He looked down at the gun and then back up at her. "That's not handcuffs."

"I can get you out of here, but you're going to have to kidnap me," she said matter-of-factly. Ironic, she though, that she would be a willing participant in this kidnapping.

He considered the gun for a moment. "You know, I really think I'm facing enough felonies as it is."

"Castle!" she snapped. "Ten seconds—make your choice. Another felony or straight to jail?"

He took the ten seconds and, at the end of them, grabbed the gun from her hands. "What the hell? Maybe I can go for some felonies in a forty-eight hour period record, or something."

She furrowed her brow at him and shook her head, not even wanting to comprehend that comment. "Let's just get this over with."

Castle cradled the gun in his right hand, absorbing the weight in his palm and getting comfortable with the feel. He wrapped his fist around the base and made sure his finger was nowhere near the trigger before glancing up to her, obviously expecting she had more of a plan. "Okay, how do I do this?"

"Well," she said with a wry smile, "it's your show Castle; make it a good one. But if you take the safety off that gun I will shoot you."

"Duly noted." Together, they inched their way out from behind the dumpsters, Castle leading the way so they could come out on the side closest to the motel. Once they had enough room, he stood behind her, putting his left arm around her neck and pressing the gun barrel towards her cheek with his right.

"Castle the safety!"

"It's on—relax. Sheesh."

She grumbled at his flippant attitude towards gun safety. "Okay, and you'd better make sure I'm completely in front of you so they don't try to shot you."

He squeaked. "Shoot me!?"

"Castle!"

"Alright, alright." He adjusted their position and she grabbed onto his forearm for affect. Slowly, as if they had entered a bizarre three legged race hostage event, they made their way out from behind the shadows of the building. Once in a stream of sunlight in full view of the approaching FBI unit, Castle stopped walking and made his position known loudly.

"Nobody move or the agent gets it! Right in her pretty face!" he shouted to the masses of the FBI agents. He heard her groan "Oh my god" under her breath, but chose to ignore it.

At the first sound out of his lips, all the agents pulled their weapons and pointed them towards the man and his hostage. Kate felt Castle swallow hard and felt his grip seize a bit tighter around her throat. She took a smooth breath in through her nose and pushed it out through her lips, trying to remain as calm as possible.

"Put it down, Mr. Castle; let her go!" Banner called as he stepped to the front of the pack.

"Never! I will never surrender!" Castle insisted. Then, with all the melodrama he could muster he added, "As God as my witness, I will never surrender!"

"If you quote _Braveheart_, I swear to god I will just let them shoot you," she muttered to him. "Just get to the damn car."

"Where is it?" he asked from the corner of his mouth.

"Down the block to your right. I've got the keys."

"Great 'cause you're driving," he told her. Then, to the crowd, he added louder. "Don't try to follow us! I mean it—one step, one foot in our direction and it'll be the end for her pretty little—ah!" He whined when he felt her fingertips claw into his forearm. Taking the hint that he was laying on the drama a bit too thick, he kept his mouth shut during the remainder of their shuffle towards her dark sedan.

Just before they reached the car she muttered, "Don't say anything once we're inside." He was just about to ask why, but she shot him a glare over her shoulder and he decided it would be wise not to question her seeing as she was the one helping him.

When they reached the parked vehicle, Kate pulled the keys from her pocket and ducked into the driver's seat, making a show of holding her hands out in front of her and then placing them directly onto the steering wheel. Castle climbed into the seat behind her, making sure he could be seen through the windshield with the gun pointed at her head. As she requested, he said absolutely nothing, though the curiosity of where they would be going next was killing him.

Once his car door was shut, she wasted no time. She slammed the car in gear and jammed the gas pedal down, squealing the tires as the vehicle lurched from the side of the road. He resisted the urge to cry out as his body slammed back against the seat due to her abrupt driving. With his left hand he gripped the door handle and watched as she sped onto Cross Bay Boulevard and used it to hop onto the Belt Parkway.

From Queens, they headed west towards Brooklyn and then Staten Island, but neither of those was her destination of choice; Kate's goal was firmly set on New Jersey. Though she knew their route would have tolls and a bridge, it was a calculated decision she made based on her knowledge that going back up through the city would require not only a different bridge, but also the Holland Tunnel, which was a bottleneck in even the best hours of traffic. No, she couldn't risk them being stopped; they had to keep moving even if their route was a bit longer.

As her lane switching became more frequent, she flicked on the cruiser lights and used them as an excuse to drive with the gas pedal to the floor. Only once did she get caught up behind two tractor trailers and a slow moving RV. She was forced to reduce her speed to that below the road's limit and ground her hands against the wheel in frustration. Obsessively checking her rearview mirror and half expecting to see flashing lights, she used the woop-woop of her siren to clear a path and skim her way around the RV and back out into the open road.

Despite making near record time on their journey, nearly forty minutes passed from the time they left Queens until they arrived in Elizabeth, New Jersey, a town in constant shadow of the planes taking off from Newark Airport. Kate pulled the cruiser to a stop at the back of a convenience store just off the highway. Upon releasing the steering wheel from her death grip, she could feel the damp sweat on her hands and wiped it quickly on her pants. As efficiently as she could, she shed her bullet proof vest and tossed it on to the car's passenger seat.

She had barely turned off the car engine before she popped the door handle, hopped out of the car and almost simultaneously opened the back door of the vehicle. She practically dragged Castle out by his jacket sleeve and, once he was free of the car, wrenched her gun from his hands and holstered it. All the while, he could do nothing but stare at her.

"We don't have much time, so listen close. I don't know if we were followed by any unmarked police so we have to move quickly, understand?"

She spoke with the sharpness of a drill sergeant and he dared not interrupt, so he merely nodded his head.

"Go inside and buy two disposable cell phones. Then, walk two blocks north and three blocks west. I'll be waiting for you at the street corner. Be quick and don't get caught."

He nodded. "But-"

"Castle! Quick! Go!" By the time the last syllable was leaving her mouth, she was already running out of the parking lot and crossing the street southbound. Splitting up gave them less of a chance of being spotted together, and it was the only thing she could think of on her feet.

The entire drive to New Jersey she second guessed her decision approximately every fifteen seconds, but during each internal debate, she always circled back to the same conclusion; she knew it was right. She could not knowingly send an innocent man to jail, not with so many questions still outstanding, and the evidence skeptical at best. She knew that there was a very real possibly she was throwing her entire career away with her actions, but in that moment she maintained tunnel vision on doing what she thought was right.

Halfway to their preset meeting point, Kate ducked into a sandwich shop and grabbed a few spare napkins from the dispenser nearest the door. Back on her route, she pulled a pen out of her breast pocket, gripped the cap between her teeth, and began scribbling out the most legible instructions she could manage as she walked.

She made it to the corner before he did, as she expected due to her speed. That gave her just enough time to crouch down and finish drawing a tiny map against her thigh to go along with the directions she was providing. Once the map was completed, she paced a two foot square in the sidewalk silently chanting, "C'mon, Castle, c'mon," under her breath until she saw him approach. With relief flooding through her trembling extremities, she hurried to the street corner and waited for him to cross on the signal.

"Okay, double-oh-seven, you gonna tell me what the hell is going on?" he asked when he was close enough not to yell.

She snatched the bag with the two cell phones from him. She pulled out the first phone, wrote its number on her hand, and then gave it to him. "Here. I'll contact you from the other phone. Do not call anyone from this phone. Do you hear me, Castle? Not your mother, not your daughter, not your agent. No one."

"Okay, okay," he grumbled, taking the phone and slipping it into his jacket pocket.

She pressed three napkins into his hands. "Here. Follow these directions. They will take you to a cabin in northern Pennsylvania. There is a key hidden under a fake frog statue to the left of the front door. Take different methods of transportation to get there. Make sure you're not being followed. Don't get caught. Are you listening to me, Castle? Do not get caught, because if you do, we're both completely fucked."

Momentarily taken aback by her sudden harsh language he blinked rapidly stammered, "Ah, uh, ye-yeah. Okay!"

Folding her arms over her chest, she nodded. "Good."

"Just, uh, out of curiosity—why Pennsylvania?"

"My father's cabin," she said, her eyes scanning the street to make sure no one was watching.

"Oh." He let a beat go by and then tilted his head to the side as he looked at her. "Why are you doing this?"

"Castle! We don't have time. Just go! Go! And-"

"Don't get caught—I know," he finished for her in a tired tone. Then, pocketing the napkins, he jogged across the street, disappearing into the flow of traffic.


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight**

After watching Castle disappear onto the streets of New Jersey, Kate walked back to her car at a moderate pace. As she walked, she pulled the burner cell from its packaging and programmed the phone number to Castle's matching phone into the address book. When she reached to the gas station, she went inside, scrubbed the ink number off her hand in the bathroom, and then returned to her vehicle.

Sitting in the driver's seat, Kate pulled her regular cell phone out of the cup holder and phoned her location into central dispatch. She reported that the suspect had escaped unarmed and she lost track of him when he ran across the street into traffic. Central dispatch told her to hold her position until backup could arrive.

Dropping the phone back in the cup holder, Kate gripped the top of the wheel with both hands, leaned forward and rested her forehead against the back of her hands. This was it; the absolute point of no return. Once she reported to Banner her falsified account of what took place that afternoon, she was in just as deep as Castle was.

As she sat, Kate thought back through the prior decade of her career in law enforcement, scanning her mind for every tough call she had to make; every split second decision. She'd had some doozies, particularly when she was working homicide. Many times, because of a certain situations, she had to forego following protocol, or skirt the absolute limits of insubordination, but she had never outright broken the law.

It was ironic, she decided, that in order to see this case through, she had to become exactly like the cops she believed they would be ultimately pursuing: the ones who lied, falsified reports, and manipulated the justice system to their own advantage. Unlike those she hunted, Kate was not doing so for personal gain, professional or monetary. Everything she did was to save an innocent and protect him from the unjust situation that had befallen him. They were in it together, now; there was no going back from that, especially since it seemed like he was quite possibly the only person alive who could help her sort through the bizarre facts accumulated about both cases.

Before the backup arrived, Kate took a moment to think through her story. She knew the key to believability would be conviction, detail, and consistency. Facing Banner would be tough enough, so she needed to have her game face on and her story straight by the time he arrived.

Ten minutes after her call to dispatch, two unmarked black SUVs and two local police department cruisers pulled into the convenience store parking lot. Kate stepped out of her vehicle to meet them, putting on as professional an exterior as she could muster with her heart racing the way it was.

"Well?" Banner demanded. "Where'd you lose him?"

"Three blocks that way," Kate pointed in the direction Castle went, figuring it would be imperative not to lie about that fact just in case there were cameras in the area and the FBI decided to check them. "He ran across the street through traffic. By the time I could get across safely, I couldn't see him anymore."

Banner dispatched one police cruiser and the second FBI vehicle to scour the area. Kate could only hope that Castle's fifteen minute head start was enough to get him safely out of the canvassing area. With the search party driving away, Banner turned back to Kate and combed his fingers through his mustache. Shaking his head, he said, "Goddamnit Beckett, you really fucked this one up good, didn't you? How the hell'd you let this guy get the drop on you twice?"

"I'm sorry, sir. Trust me, it's not like I was trying it," she admitted. At least that wasn't a total lie; she certainly hadn't planned to let Castle kidnap her when she awoke that morning.

"Just…just tell me what happened."

"I thought I saw him moving by the dumpsters behind that motel, so I decided to go after him—I thought I could get him myself before he could escape again, but he…he came out from behind one of the dumpsters and put his hands around my neck until he got my gun. On our way to the car, he told me to take him to New Jersey as quickly as possible."

"Well that explains why you took off like a goddamn bat out of hell! Shit, Beckett, you could have at least _tried_ to slow down so that our vehicles could follow you." Banner grumbled.

"I'm sorry, sir, but he had my gun and insisted that I go quickly. I didn't want to upset him, especially not when it could have caused an accident and hurt innocent people," she explained. "When he pulled off the highway, he jumped out of the car and hunched over like he was going to be sick. I thought that would be my chance. I managed to get my gun back, but he knocked me over and took off running. I chased him but, as I said, I lost him in the traffic."

"Did he say anything? Anything about where he might be going?"

"No sir," Kate said firmly. She knew that all FBI vehicles came standard equipped with a camera on the dash, which was always recording when the car was in gear. She knew only the newer models of the cameras also had sound recording and did not know which version was in her vehicle. In case her vehicle had the one that recorded sound, she made sure that neither she nor Castle spoke in the car so it would not be obvious they were in collusion.

Banner paced on the spot for a few moments before looking at her. "Alright, Beckett, I want you to go back to the office and write an incident report and then I don't want you to move from your desk until you've cleared out that bin on it. You got it?"

"But Sir, I really think that I can still help in this case," Kate insisted. She knew by making the rookie move of getting kidnapped—twice—she would run the risk of Banner throwing her office the case entirely, but that wasn't what she wanted—she needed to stay close. When Banner gave her a disbelieving expression, she added, "Please, Sir? I mean, who has more motivation to catch him than me at this point?" She forced a laugh, trying to keep the mood light.

"We'll see," Banner said. "Just go and write your goddamned report."

Abiding by Banner's wishes was physically painful for Kate, but she obeyed just the same. The last thing she needed was to be put on permanent desk duty and thus no longer have access to the FBI motor pool. Plus, access to the active FBI case files didn't hurt either if only to keep checking to make sure that Castle remained a wanted man.

As she was walking back to her desk, Kate texted Castle's burner cell phone to ask him to let her know when he'd safely arrived at the cabin. Then, she put the phone in her purse and waited impatiently as she typed up her less-than-truthful report and shuffled through the other paperwork on her desk. By six that evening, the bin was clear and, seeing as it was a Friday, most of the office was empty, so Kate decided to leave as well.

Still filled with too much nervous energy to go home, Kate wandered the streets of the city until she decided on some Thai food for dinner. As she walked and ate, she obsessively checked the phone in her purse, but each time she did, she found no new messages. "Damn it Castle," she sighed to herself just before eight that evening. It had been over four hours since they'd separated, enough time to drive to the cabin and back again if one had use of a car, which Castle did not as far as she knew.

After fearing she might wear a hole in the path between her kitchen and bedroom, Kate finally heard her new cell phone chime just before nine. She raced to the phone, picked it up, and clicked to the new message she received.

_First guess: your father is a lawyer who loves baseball. Like, really loves it._

Kate chuckled to herself as she typed back a response. She imagined Castle had found her father's desk in the cabin, which was a shrine to baseball card displays, signed balls, and many framed classic baseball photographs. The bookshelf beside the desk in the office held dozens of law journals. _Yes, on both accounts. You made it safe? _She replied.

_Safe, sound, and in one piece. Did you get in trouble for being kidnapped again by a ruggedly handsome fugitive?_

_A little, but they didn't take me off the case yet, so that's good._

_It's cool if I use the kitchen right?_ He asked her.

_Of course; anything you want_.

As she waited for a response, Kate turned to her own refrigerator and retrieved her only remaining carton of Ben and Jerry's. Pulling the top off, she saw it was only a quarter full, which she decided was the perfect serving size after the day she had. She left the cardboard lid on the counter, grabbed a spoon and her phone and walked towards the couch. By the time she sat down, the phone chimed again.

_Btw I'm totally looking at your childhood photos. You were adorable! Its ok if I go through all your stuff right?_

Kate rolled her eyes before responding. _I'd prefer you didn't but I guess I can't stop you._

_I'm kidding. I'm not going through anything, just looking at the shelves_.

Kate nodded to herself as she ate a spoonful of chocolate peanut butter goodness. Several large shelves in the cabin were dedicated to pictures, the fullest of which was over the fireplace. It had been several years since she scrutinized each of the photos, so she could only imagine what sort of images Castle was viewing.

_I love this picture of you on the pony_

Kate thought for a moment before responding. _Isn't that the one where I'm crying hysterically?_

_That's why I like it; it's funny_

_Glad you're having fun_

_Was it your birthday?_

_Yes. I wanted to ride a pony but I scared me…or so my parents told me._

_Are you an only child?_

_Yes_

_Me too. Which bedroom should I sleep in?_

_It doesn't matter. You can have mine, if you want. The yellow double bed._

_No pink?_

_I don't like pink._

_Yellow it is then. I think I'm going to turn in soon. _

Kate chuckled to herself as she typed, _Long day?_

_The longest. I was the unwilling victim of an erratic high speed car ride_

Kate's jaw dropped at his response. She narrowed her eyes at her phone for a moment, trying to think of an appropriate response to his snarky comment. When she couldn't think of anything particularly witty, she merely said, _It's called evasive driving; it's a skill._

_I'm sure. And you're very good at it. Goodnight, Kate._

Smiling softly, she typed back, _Goodnight, Rick._

The following morning, Kate first checked her burner phone, but found no other messages from Castle. Next, she checked her work phone and found a message stating there would be a mandatory briefing at nine the next morning. Unfortunately, there was no such thing as a weekend for FBI agents on the clock, particularly not when a fugitive was on the loose. Well, alleged fugitive.

When Kate arrived at the meeting, tall cup of coffee in hand, she noticed Banner avoiding her gaze and she was fine with that. Quite frankly, given how deep she was, she needed him to keep his distance. She was having enough trouble keeping all of her lies straight without him breathing down her neck.

The meeting was short and to the point. The manhunt for Castle was now an all-hands-on-deck situation. They would be pooling their resources with the local police in both New York and New Jersey. It was bad enough, Banner explained, that Castle had escaped the custody of one of their own, but he was now going on day four of evading capture and his freedom needed to come to a very quick end.

Kate ignored the comment about his escape from custody since, technically, he had never been in her custody and therefore could not escape from it. Instead, she remained amused by all the theories of Castle's whereabouts floating through the room. Thankfully, none of them came remotely close to a small mountain town in northern Pennsylvania.

As Banner delegated assignments, Kate's name was noticeably absent from the roster and, for the first time, she could not have been more grateful. "Ah, Beckett," Banner said, finally addressing her. "I thought, given all the excitement yesterday, you might want to sit this one out."

"Well," she began, feigning disappointment. "I suppose that is for the best, sir. I do have a lot of paperwork to get through."

Banner nodded and left her in the conference room. A moment later, Kate returned to her desk and began sifting through papers giving the illusion of being busy until everyone left on their assignments. In truth, she was formulating her next move.

While Castle was in the clear for the time being, he certainly could not live out the rest of his days in her father's cabin. She needed to move forward with the case—both cases—and she could not see a way of doing that without fully understanding everything that Castle knew. Picking through Castle's brain was not something that could be done via text message, either; it needed to be done in person.

Visiting her father's cabin was not an impossible task, but it did require a bit of forethought. She could not drive herself there in an FBI vehicle; that would be moronic. She also could not go during the day and risk being followed or questioned. No, she needed a very plausible plan and, within a few minutes, she formulated one. Still, she did not want to go completely empty handed.

Kate picked up her cell phone from the desk and pulled up the keypad to dial a phone number. Before she pressed the third digit, she froze. Was that really the phone she wanted to use?

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Kate dipped her hand into her purse to pull out her burner phone. Double checking the number in the Castle file, Kate dialed and pressed the phone to her ear, covering it with her hair. The woman on the other end picked up on the second ring.

"Ms. Rodgers? It's Agent Kate Beckett with the FBI. I was wondering if I could stop by and ask you a question or two. Will you be at home around, say, eleven thirty?"

When Castle's mother confirmed she would be, Kate thanked her, hung up the phone and slipped it back into her purse. By the time she'd pretended to go through a few more things on her desk, the office had virtually cleared out. Any non-essential personnel were out enjoying their weekend and all the agents were already on assignment; it was time for her to make her move.

Using public transportation only, Kate made a pit stop at her apartment to pick up her laptop case sans laptop before making her way to Castle's loft. Promptly at eleven thirty, she arrived at the apartment and, feeling some nervous sweat beads collecting near her brow, knocked on the door.

Castle's mother opened the door warmly. "Agent Beckett, please come in."

Kate smiled at her and stepped inside. "Thank you. Is, ah, Castle's—er, Mr. Castle's—daughter here?"

"No, I'm sorry; she went to the movies with friends. Do you need to speak to her because-"

"Actually," Kate interjected, "that's perfect." Martha gave her a perplexed expression and Kate explained further, "The less people that know about this, the better."

Martha's brow furrowed and she brought her hands together, clasping them in front of her chest. "I'm sorry. I don't understand. Has something happened to Richard?"

Kate gave a single nod and bit down on her bottom lip. During her trip from the FBI field office to Castle's place, she'd argued back and forth about how much to tell Castle's mother. She put herself in the elder woman's shoes and thought about what she would want to know if her child was on the run, accused of a crime she knew he had not committed. In the end, the choice was obvious. "Yes. You probably haven't heard, but yesterday Mr. Castle was almost apprehended by the FBI, but he escaped." She let a beat go by before adding, "Because I helped him."

Martha's eyes widened. "Oh. I see. So he's…he's alright?"

Kate confirmed with a nod. "He's safe for now, but I can't tell you any more than that. This may not make sense, but the less you know the better."

"Yes, I see…well, is there anything I can do?"

Kate smiled at her. "Actually, yes. The reason I stopped by is because I…I was actually going to take him a change of clothes." She laughed to herself as the words came out of her mouth. Why did the concept suddenly seem so silly? He was on the run, they would both be charged with numerous felonies if caught, and they'd been shot at, yet all she could think about was: what if he wants clean underwear?

"Oh! Oh well yes, of course!" Martha gestured for Kate to follow her and she led the way through a doorway to the right of the entryway. Kate immediately found herself in the master bedroom of the loft decorated with dark woods, masculine tones and, oddly, a giant black and white photograph of a lion's head.

Martha disappeared into the walk-in closet and returned a moment later with jeans and a button-down shirt. She handed them both to Kate before crossing the room and retrieving a white under t-shirt and boxers from the dresser. Kate put all four items in her computer bag and thought for a moment. "Socks?"

"Ah yes!" Martha went back to the chest of drawers, pulled a black pair from the second drawer. As she handed them over, she surveyed the younger girl. "Kate—may I call you Kate?"

Kate smiled. "Sure."

"I know you said you can't tell me where Richard is, and that's fine, but…but can you tell me, this whole thing—it's bigger than just the murder of a cop and a young woman, isn't it?"

Kate gripped onto the strap of her computer bag with both hands. "Yes, I believe it is."

Martha nodded and sat down on the end of the bed. "Well, yes, I suppose it would have to be if you—you're putting your neck out like this. You're a young girl—you have your whole FBI career ahead of you."

Kate smiled and let out a breathy laugh. "Well, truthfully, Ms. Rodgers-"

"Martha, please," she corrected.

"Martha," Kate continued, "I'm just a cop at heart. I worked NYPD homicide for the past five years and I would never put away anyone unless I knew with absolute certainty that they were guilty. And if they're not guilty—which I don't believe your son is—I sure as hell want to find the people that are."

Martha smiled, stood from the bed and patted Kate's arm. "Well thank god my son has you on his side."

Before she could respond, the phone in her coat pocket chimed. Instinctively, she reached for it and gazed at the screen. As it was her burner phone, it was a message from Castle. _God, law books are boring._ Without thinking, she laughed. Glancing up at the woman before her, Kate explained, "He's bored."

It took Martha a moment to understand what Kate was saying, but when she did she folded her arms over her chest and he tone turned motherly. "Well, you can tell him that a man with his imagination should never be bored. Then again, with all the time he spends in front of the television, who would know he's written a dozen books?"

Kate chuckled again. "There's no TV where he's at."

"Oh Lord, then he will be climbing the walls," Martha commented. "Are you going to see him now?"

"No, not right now. Soon, though."

"Well tell him we miss him and we want him home soon," Martha said.

Kate nodded and smiled. "I will. And thank you for these," she said, gesturing with the laptop bag.

"No," Martha corrected, "thank you."


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N_:_ We've reached the halfway mark! I'm so glad that everyone is enjoying this story - that mean's so much to me! Thank you for all your lovely reviews!_

* * *

**Nine**

As she left Castle's apartment, Kate mentally checked off phase one of her surreptitious plan as complete. Now, it was time for phase two. She pulled out her real cell phone and phoned her father, asking if it was alright if she come and visit him that afternoon. He told her of course; he was always glad to see her.

When she hung up, Kate hopped on the Hudson line to Grand Central. From there, she waited around for the next train north to White Plains, where her father lived. Fifteen minutes later, once she was seated on the train, she toed off her shoes and pulled her burner cell phone from her pocket. She had yet to respond to Castle's text, so the first thing she typed was, _I don't think fugitives are allowed to be bored_

His response was almost instant. _Sure we are. We're just not allowed to complain about the fresh air._

_Oh, is that the rule?_

_Yes._

_I'm going to come visit you tonight._

_Tonight? When?_

_Not sure yet._

_Come for dinner; we'll make a date of it._

Kate thought on this for a moment, nipping at her bottom lip as she stared blankly ahead of her. Mentally reviewing her plan in her mind, she determined that dinnertime would be about the earliest she could arrive. _Okay. I'll let you know what time I might get there when I figure it out_

_Cryptic, but okay_

Truth be told, she was not fully decided upon her travel plans from her father's home to the cabin. That was phase three of her plan and she was still on phase two.

Forty five minutes later, Kate arrived at her destination. She hailed a cab at the train station and took it to her father's modest two-bedroom home. For most of her life, they'd lived in an apartment in the city, but five years earlier her father insisted that he was just too old for city life so he purchased a home in the suburbs. The home was exactly what he wanted: removed from the city, yet still close enough for his three-day-a-week commute to his job at Hudson University as a law professor.

When Kate arrived, her father greeted her warmly with a hug and kiss on the cheek. He offered her a drink, and she accepted a beer without hesitation. For the conversation she was about to have, she knew she would need it.

"I haven't heard from you in a few days, Katie. You're not working that celebrity case, are you?" Jim Beckett asked his daughter.

Kate looked towards the floor and then back at him. "Funny you should mention that…"

Jim led the way to the sitting area and sat down on the couch with a curious, "Oh?"

"Yeah," Kate sighed, sitting beside him. "There are probably a few things I should tell you…"

For the next twenty minutes, Kate spoke continuously without leaving one detail out. She began with how she found Castle at his Hamptons' home and he'd proclaimed his innocence despite tying her to a chair. How she read through his case notes and discovered supposed facts about the death of the senior Detective Ciardi did not add up. How many of the facts in Castle's case did not add up. And, finally, how she had helped him escape the day before and that he was currently residing at their Pennsylvania cabin.

When Kate finished her story, Jim remained silent for several minutes. Finally he asked, "Is there a particular reason you're telling me all this?"

"Because if it all goes south I'm going to need a good lawyer," she told him with a wry smile. Though her comment was in jest, it was also alarmingly factual.

Jim sighed as he scrutinized his daughter's face. "Are you sure? Are you sure about the evidence and the facts—that you know which ones are pointing you in the right direction. You're sure Mr. Castle isn't involved in the murders in any way?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "There's no way he committed those murders; he's innocent and someone has to prove it."

"Katie, I know you. I know you want justice for all and I love that—you're just like your mother in that way," he said, his smile softening. Her expression mirrored his. "But the FBI…they're not always like that. Politics and bureaucratics get in the way and with Castle's face all over the news…"

"I know, I know," Kate sighed. "It'll look bad for them if he's not guilty, which means any evidence to the contrary is going to have to be iron clad."

"And are you prepared for that? Are you prepared to not gain enough evidence to win this one?"

She shook her head briefly. She wasn't going there; not yet. "I can't answer that—I don't even know what all the evidence is yet."

Jim leaned forward in his seat. "I didn't ask if you had enough evidence, I asked if you're prepared to not get enough."

Kate wasn't sure she could answer that truthfully, so she only said, "I know the stakes, Dad."

"Do you?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I knew them as soon as I handed over my gun and let him kidnap me. From that point forward I knew we would sink or swim together—that's why I have to go and see him tonight."

"Tonight?" Jim arched an eyebrow at her.

"Yeah. I have a lot of information, but not enough. The rest of it is in Castle's brain and I need to get it out while I still can. This investigation has to move forward and I have to be the one to take it there."

Jim chuckled softly and smiled at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing…just my Katie. Strong, independent, trying to leap tall buildings in a single bound."

Embarrassed, she felt her cheeks heat as she looked towards the floor and groaned. "Dad…"

"I'm proud of you, Katie. You know that, right?"

She nodded her head and then looked at him from under her brow line. "Even if I go to federal prison?"

"As long as you believe you're doing the right thing."

"I know I am," Kate confirmed. "So…can I borrow your car? I just need it for the night; you'll have it back tomorrow."

Jim gazed skeptically at his daughter. "You're going to spend the night alone in my cabin with the mystery writer?"

Kate cocked her head to the side and looked at him. "Really, Dad? I'm thirty-one. You're still giving the not-allowed-alone-with-boys speech?"

"Actually, I'm a bit more concerned that he's a wanted felon at the moment."

Kate laughed loudly. "You think he's dangerous? Trust me, Dad; he's the furthest thing from dangerous."

Eyeing her suspiciously, Jim walked from the sitting room to the kitchen and pulled the keys to his Acura off the hook by the door. When he turned, his daughter was a foot away with her hand out, palm to the ceiling. Before passing over the keys, he held the back and asked, "You're certain you're doing the right thing?"

"One hundred percent."

Jim dropped the keys into her palm. "Then I wish you the best of luck."

Shortly after six p.m. Kate arrived at her father's cabin tucked neatly into the Pennsylvania wilderness. She grabbed her laptop bag and oversized purse from the passenger seat, locked the vehicle, and went straight to the front door. She unlocked it with her key and stepped inside calling, "Castle? It's me."

He poked his head out from the kitchen and feigned shock. "Oh no! The FBI found me!"

"Ha-ha," she responded. "How you holding up?"

He shrugged. "I know a lot more about contract law than I ever needed to. On the bright side, next time I get a book contract I might be able to negotiate it myself."

She smiled. "Good to know." Then, handing him the laptop bag she added, "I brought you a change of clothes."

His expression brightened as he took it. "Oh! Wow, thank you I…hey wait, these are my clothes, aren't they?" he asked upon examining the bag. He recognized the button down as one of his with his initials—RC—embroidered on the cuff.

"They are," she confirmed.

He looked at her, perplexed. "You…you told them?"

"I told your mother only," she clarified. "She doesn't know where you are, but she knows I'm helping you. And she wanted me to tell you that she and Alexis miss you and they want you to come home."

"Thank you," he said with genuine sincerity. Kate merely nodded in response. They held each other's gaze for a moment before Castle gestured towards the kitchen. "So…dinner?"

Kate nodded and followed him. The cabin was expansive by no means, but given that it was sixty-plus year old home in a woodsy setting, the kitchen was at least double the size of her apartment kitchen, even if that wasn't saying much. In addition to all the standard appliances, there was space in the center of the room for a table to be pushed against the wall. The table was modest, but large enough for two people to dine comfortably.

When Kate entered the kitchen, she found Castle had already set the table with plates and silverware. On the stove, she spotted several pots as well as one on the counter. "I hope you didn't go to too much trouble on my account."

"Ah well, don't get your hopes up too much." He shrugged. "That sad excuse for a general store down the road didn't have too much in the way of fine cuisine. All I managed to rustle up was enough to make spaghetti and have vegetables as a side—but they're frozen," he added with a scrunched up nose.

Kate failed to suppress a chuckle at his expression when he mentioned frozen vegetables. From his scrunched nose, she would have thought he was describing a rotten hunk of lettuce found in the garbage and it made her curious as to whether he had picky tastes because of his celebrity status, or if he'd always maintained an irrational hatred for greens from a freezer. "Frozen vegetables are fine by me."

Castle made a grand sweeping gesture towards the stove and allowed Kate to serve herself, as there was not enough room on the petite table to have their place settings and the serving dishes. Once her plate was half pasta, half a mix of broccoli and carrots, Kate sat and Castle joined her a moment later. "Do you do a lot of cooking?" she asked.

"Almost all of it. My mother isn't much of a domestic…neither were my ex-wives, come to think of it. Plus I enjoy it. Alexis used to help me a lot when she was younger; we made a game of it," he explained. "How about you? Do you cook?"

"I can and I don't mind it, but I don't take as much time to do it as I should. Unfortunately, after a long day, it's much easier just to grab takeout." She confessed with a shrug.

Castle nodded as he slurped some spaghetti noodles. "Ah, yeah; makes sense. So…did you always dream of a career at the FBI?"

Kate's eyes widened at that terrifying concept while she cut a large piece of broccoli in half with her fork. "Um, no; definitely not. Actually, I've only been with the FBI for six months. Before that I was NYPD."

"You were a cop?" he asked with surprise; she nodded. "Did you know Detective Ciardi?"

Kate shook her head. "No, I worked out of the Twelfth precinct when I was Homicide."

"So you always wanted to be a cop then? Dressed up as one for Halloween?" He asked, trying to imagine her as a child with an oversized hat and plastic badge.

Placing her fork down, she shook her head again. "No, actually, I grew up wanting to be a lawyer just like my parents."

He set his fork down as well, clasped his hands together and gazed at her. "Then what happened?"

"Things changed," she explained simply before turning back to her food. "Did you always want to be a writer?"

"Ever since high school, yeah. Before that I can't say I seriously thought about any career path. I was too busy having fun and wreaking havoc—you know, the usual." He grinned at her and she laughed.

When she finished eating, Kate picked up her plate and carried it towards the sink. Before she could reach it, Castle jumped up and said, "I'll take that."

She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. "It's okay, Castle. You did the cooking; the least I can do is the dishes."

As she filled the sink with soapy water and submerged their used plates and utensils, they remained in a comfortable silence. She pulled a clean dishtowel from the cabinet and passed it to Castle, who seemed eager to help her. She could wash and then he would dry, she decided.

With the plates dried and put away, Kate turned to the larger pots, which were more difficult to wash in the shallow sink. She managed to get them washed one at a time though and, as Castle was drying the last one, he cleared his throat and said, "So, I guess the fact that you're here—that I'm here in your father's cabin—means you truly believe I'm innocent."

Kate shut off the faucet and turned to him with a smile, leaning her hip against the counter. "I did from the first night we met." She thought back to the moment when he'd forced her to restrain herself with zip ties in the office of his Hamptons' home. Though it was almost exactly four days prior, it felt like much longer. "I knew you were being completely honest when you told me you didn't kill the detective. But…knowing you didn't do it and proving it are two very different things, Castle," she pointed out.

He nodded, folded his arms across his chest, and leaned his back into the counter. "I know. I wish I could say the fact that you believe me makes a difference, but I'd like to go home and see my family again."

"Alexis misses you; she's worried about you."

Castle's head whipped in her direction. "You've talked to her?"

She smiled softly at the flash of fatherly concern in his eyes. "Several times. She…she really wants to see you come home and I guess I've got a soft spot for a daddy's girl seeing as I'm one too."

"Really?"

She pressed her lips together, holding in a broad smile as she responded. "Yeah. I always have been, but when we lost my mom, my dad and I got a lot closer."

"When was that?"

"About ten years ago, which is why I really understood when Alexis told me she wanted her only parent back," Kate explained. She remembered that moment well, remembered putting herself in her own shoes. The thought of losing her father was almost too horrifying to think about, even as a hypothetical.

Castle groaned and walked a few steps from the counter. "Ah, well, full disclosure: Alexis's mom—Meredith—is very much still alive and gleefully spending her alimony checks every month, I'm sure. She lives in California, though; Alexis never sees her and hasn't really been a part of her life for, ah, yeah about ten years too." Kate nodded at his explanation. After a moment, Castle turned to her and asked, "Is that why you're doing this? For Alexis?"

She smiled wryly. "Yes and…" She let her voice drift off as she walked back to the entryway where she'd left her oversized purse. From it, she pulled the hardback book she'd picked up on the way out of her apartment earlier that day. Returning to the kitchen, she found Castle standing by the sink looking curious. She opened the front cover of the book and held it out to him, displaying his signature on the title page of the penultimate Derrick Storm novel. When he looked up at her, intrigued, she continued her explanation.

"My dad got this signed for me. When I heard about your signing for this book, I was so excited. I told my dad how I was going to stand in line and wait to get your signature for as long as it took. Then, my schedule changed and I pulled a shift that day." She shook her head at the memory. "I was so mad, I tried to trade, but no one was up for it, so I just went to work and was so bitchy the whole day. Then Dad surprised me. He called off his class and stood in line to get this for me because he knew how much I wanted it."

Kate set the book down on the counter by the sink and took a step closer to him. Looking up into his eyes, she said, "I've read all your books and seen interviews you've done. I always wondered what kind of man you really were. Now that I know, I think it's only fair that the rest of the world knows too."

Castle was almost at a complete loss for words. During his day alone in the cabin, he had spent many minutes thinking about her and what was driving her to go to such great lengths to help him the way she was. To him, the story was paramount. Everything that ever happened needed a story behind it—a plausible story; it was how he saw the world.

What, he wondered, was her story? She was a federal agent—and now, he realized, a cop at heart—and a damn good one at that. She was smart and savvy and good at thinking on her feet. But why would she risk all of that—her career, her freedom—to help him when she didn't even know him?

Staring down at her, Castle felt and inexplicable gravitational force pulling him in her direction. The sensation was beyond his control. He felt his torso easing forward, closing the gap between them as their faces drew ever nearer. When his lips were just a few inches from hers, he was startled by a loud buzzing noise.

Kate jumped as well and, her cheeks flushing, she hurried towards the table, where she'd left her cell phone. She picked it up and scrolled to the message screen. With a slightly embarrassed laugh, she turned to him and ran her fingertips across her forehead with her free hand. "It's just my dad," she said. "He wants to make sure you didn't kill me."

Not expecting that comment from her, Castle's brow furrowed. "Is he…serious?"

Kate typed a response, hit send, and returned the phone to the table. Pushing her hands down into her back jean pockets, she shook her head. "No, not really. It's his thing—his way of coping with me being a cop. Every now and then if I haven't talked to him for a while he'll text me and say he's just checking in to make sure I'm still alive." For several moments, they just stared at one another. She wasn't sure if he was wondering the same things spinning through her mind, foremost of which was the question: did we just almost kiss?

Shaking that from her mind, she gestured towards the rest of the house and said, "So, um, the case….we need to talk about the case."

"Right, right the case," he said nodding as well. He followed her to the main room of the cabin where she sat on the couch and tucked one foot underneath her. He sat at the opposite end and rotated her body so he was facing her. "Where do you want to start?"

In Kate's mind, the answer was clear. "At the beginning—the very beginning. How did you meet Detective Ciardi?"

"Ah well…before I answer that, I think I need to go back even further." He settled back on to the couch, grabbed a throw pillow to hug in his lap and hunkered down into a storytelling position. "Well, of course you're familiar with Derrick Storm and the end of that series that I wrote, right?" He glanced over to her and she nodded. "Well, after Derrick, I thought I wanted a female lead—a strong woman, still law enforcement. Even though Derrick was CIA, I flirted with the idea of using the FBI—oh hey!" he interrupted himself and smiled at her. "I guess she would have been just like you!" Kate let out an airy laugh and then waited for him to continue.

"Well, anyway, as you might imagine the FBI wasn't too keen on letting me do any research there or shadow any of their agents. So I kicked a bunch of ideas around for a while and then I decided to just steal one of Patterson's. We're poker buddies, so he was cool with it," he added as an aside. Kate smiled, but his tone made her wonder if the other famous author really approved of the idea.

"I liked the idea of a gritty cop with plenty of wear and tear, but of course I had to put my own spin on it so Patterson didn't get pissed."

"Is…is that why the book is called _Crossroads_?" Kate asked, wondering if it was a reference to Patterson's infamous character.

Castle beamed at her, thoroughly impressed; he wasn't sure how many people would pick up on that reference. "Indeed it is. Of course, in my book Crossroads is the name of Timothy Chance's—the main character's—family farm…but anyway, I contacted some people at the NYPD, but I kept getting brushed off so I used the mayor to get in to the eleventh precinct."

"To shadow Detective Ciardi?" Kate guessed.

Castle held up his index finger. "Ah, no. At this point I still wanted a well-worn cop, so I was actually teamed up with a man named Al Petershim, who'd been on the force for twenty years. He…basically hated me."

Not expecting this, Kate let a short burst of laughter escape from her lips.

"It's true," Castle insisted. "He couldn't stand me. His CO twisted his arm into letting me shadow him, but he'd avoid me as much as he could. Often, he brushed me off on his young partner: Tony Ciardi."

"Ah," Kate nodded, finally seeing the connection.

"I was with them…" He paused and though. "Maybe four of five months when Petershim sent Tony to question a suspect and I tagged along. Well, long story short, the guy pulled a gun on us and Tony and I had to dive for cover. This was all taking place in a bar, by the way. Tony got behind some tables and I crawled around behind the bar, grabbed the first heavy-looking bottle I found and brained the guy with it."

She let out a half-gasp, half-laugh. "You didn't!"

He beamed. "I did! I totally did! The guy hit the ground like that!" Castle snapped his fingers. "After that, Tony and I became friends. I'd take him to Knicks games and we'd hang out. I even invited him to my poker game with the mayor once and he loved that. I guess, ah, I guess we won't be doing that anymore," Castle said with a sad laugh, gazing out across the room.

Kate felt a twinge in her chest at his expression. She noted he may have been realizing for the first time that his friend was truly gone. She imagined that in all the rush of being arrested and then escaping and running he probably never had time to fully process the event.

After a moment, Castle cleared his throat and turned back to her to continue his story. "Anyway, a few months ago—back in January—Tony came to me and said he had a problem and he needed some help, but he wasn't sure who he could trust. He tells me a few years ago, about a year after his father's death, his mom asked him to clean out his father's study. In doing so, Tony creates these big piles of boxes and ends up tripping and falling into one of them, knocking the boxes down and spilling the contents everywhere. So Tony goes and starts to clean up the mess and that's when he realizes something.

"One box contained copies of NYPD case files, which he thought was odd. Even stranger, when he's cleaning up he finds a stickie note that's fallen off one of the files. It's in his father's handwriting and it says, 'Where did the evidence go?'" Castle paused and looked at Kate, who was leaning forward with her forearms on her thighs, listening intently. Glad he'd captured her attention, he continued.

"Now Tony was curious and so he started looking through all the files—those are the files I scanned in to my hard drive; the same ones that were on the USB drive I gave to you. If you've read them—which I assume you have—you've probably seen what Tony saw. All those cases involved drug arrests where the evidence 'mysteriously,'" he used air quotes, "went missing.

"Tony saw all this, but he really wasn't in a place to investigate it. He was just beginning his detective training at that time and apparently he had some girlfriend problems—I'm not really sure. All I know is it was about a year until he really got to look into these cases, but they weren't really making sense to him—that's when I got involved."

Kate sat silently for a moment, reviewing everything he'd said. She'd enjoyed his storytelling so much she almost forgot that she was supposed to be paying attention and looking for clues that would help them. "So," she said finally, "Tony had realized his father's death might not have been an accident at this point?"

"No, he hadn't," Castle corrected. "I made that connection. I'm always looking for the story, you know? And I'll admit my first few theories about the missing drugs were pretty outlandish, but they led me to ask if Tony was sure if his father's death was an accident. He hadn't even thought about it! So we got the case file, and nothing made sense."

Castle held up his fingers to begin ticking off reasons, "No prints anywhere in the car. The guy manages to run off in rush hour traffic without being seen by any witness or traffic cameras. Very few witness statements in the actual case file. Not to mention, who steals a tow truck in Queens and drives it through Midtown?

"Tony pointed out that Petershim—yes, the same guy who was Tony's partner—was the one who wrote the report on Anthony Senior's death. Tony asked him about it, but Petershim shut him down. Told him he couldn't dwell on it; his old man was dead and that was that. Tony told me that Petershim was always trying to do that—shut down cases just to get them closed, going with the most obvious suspect, guilty or not. Anthony Senior's death looked like a hit and run, so that's what it was; case closed."

Kate clicked her tongue in disgust and shook her head. Petershim sounded like the exact type of detective she despised: the one who only looked at the convenient evidence that gave them the answer they thought they already knew, even if further investigation would lead them to a different and often times more accurate answer.

"Tony and I did what we could—we looked for witnesses, tried to hunt them down, but everything was a dead end. The people who we were able to get in contact with couldn't really give us great detail about a traffic accident they'd witness so many years earlier. It was just…and endless wave of disappointments," he concluded with a sigh. "I know there's something there, but we just couldn't catch a break."

"And now we're going to have to," Kate concluded for him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten**

After grabbing a bag of pretzels to snack on and a water bottle, Kate returned to the couch with her packet of notes so she and Castle could continue their discussion. She spread out all of the pages she'd printed from his documents onto the coffee table so that they could both look at them. "I feel like Anthony Senior's accident is really where we need to start with this whole thing."

"I agree; it feels like everything else can branch out from that point—that's why I went to the salvage yard that day," Castle explained. He picked up the pen Kate left on the table and began scratching notes onto free space on one of the printed pages.

"I think we need to be asking if the salvage yard was in on it. If they were, did they call in a fake stolen truck report to keep the story looking legit? We need to know who the driver was. I know the police report said all the employees of the salvage yard were accounted for, but maybe he was an off the books employee? Or was he someone completely outside? How is any of this connected to the drug deals? And did they perhaps buy off the witnesses at the scene of the accident?"

"Probably not," Kate chimed in. He looked over to her. "Witnesses are historically terrible, especially in crowded traffic like that during rush-hour. You'd be amazed, actually. You can interview three different people who were all standing in the same ten foot area and they'll give you three completely different answers."

"Okay, they didn't buy off the witnesses," he conceded, "But what about the rest of the questions?"

"They're all good, but I don't know how many of them we can answer. If the salvage yard was in on it, I'm sure they falsified the stolen truck report, but they may not have been in on it. Whoever stole the truck may have simply targeted them because he knew of them—maybe he knew they had lax security or something." She scanned their list of questions and thought for a moment. "Did you ever see traffic camera footage of the accident? That wasn't with your file."

"Yes, I saw it, but on Tony's computer at the precinct; I couldn't take the file with me."

Kate was slightly disappointed by that. She would have hoped to review the tape herself and not rely on Castle's testimony, but it seemed they wouldn't have a choice. "What did the video show?"

"It was a traffic camera for the intersection facing in the direction Anthony Senior was traveling. You could see his car enter the intersection and then WHAM!" Castle smacked one fist against the opposite palm. "The tow truck hit his vehicle and it spun around. You could just barely see the driver getting out of the truck and running down the street."

"Which direction?"

"The direction the tow truck came from, which seemed really odd, because there was a whole traffic jam there. To me, it would have made more sense to run in the direction Antony's vehicle was traveling, because the path was clear. There was a camera there—at an ATM. We saw that video too, but all you could see was the guy getting out of the truck and running away. His face wasn't visible on any of the angles, which made it seem like he knew where the cameras were. That's when I figured out the story."

Kate looked at him. "The story?"

"Sure. Anthony stumbles upon a bunch of dirty cops making evidence 'disappear' for their own personal gain. The dirty cops either find out he knows or maybe Anthony threatened to turn them in, but either way they know they have to get rid of him. They hire some low-level thug to steal the truck and take Anthony out while making it look like an accident—problem solved."

She sat quietly and thought for a moment. "What?" Castle asked finally. "No good?"

"No, it's plausible, I just don't know how we prove any of it," she concluded sadly.

"Can't we follow the money? Isn't the answer always, "follow the money?""

She eyed him skeptically. "What money, Deep Throat?"

"The payoff money—for Anthony."

"There would be no pay off money—according to your theory they killed him instead of buying him off."

Castle rounded his shoulders in defeat. "Oh."

"Unless…" Kate began, scooting forward on the couch. "Did you look into Anthony Senior's financials at all?"

He shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of. Should we?"

"Well, we need all the facts."

"Great! How do we get his financials?"

Kate thought for a moment. "I might be able to call in some favors but…ah, its too late tonight," she said after glancing at her watch. "Maybe…maybe we should just call it a night. I want some of this stuff to sink in anyway."

Castle, too, glanced at the clock and then eyed her dubiously. "You're going to go to bed before nine o'clock on a Saturday night?"

"I didn't say I was going to bed—I just need a break from this case," she informed him. "I'm just going to take a nice bath." She stood from the couch and walked to the hall to retrieve her oversized purse.

"You brought a change of clothes for yourself, too?"

She shrugged and shook her head. "No, but I always have a toothbrush and a change of underwear in my purse."

Castle laughed. "Were you a Girl Scout?"

She shook her head. "No, but I've had many cases go for several days at a time with hardly any break in between. Never underestimate the power of a toothbrush and some clean underwear," she told him with a smile.

He held up his hands, palms out. "I won't!"

* * *

When Castle awoke the next morning, he went directly to the shower and then changed into the fresh clothes Kate brought him. By the time he went out into the sitting area, he found her looking just as she had the day before, except her hair was in a ponytail. She sat on the couch poring over the documents spread out on the coffee table, wiggling a pen in her right hand between her index and middle fingers. "Morning," he said simply.

She glanced up at him. "Morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Alright I suppose. It's just very…quiet. Where's the traffic noise—the cars honking, the sound of sirens…"

Kate scrunched her nose. "I know. Dad loves it out here, but I find the quiet almost distracting… I suppose that's sad, isn't it?"

"Maybe," he supposed. "Do I smell coffee?"

"Yeah and I was just about to get some more," she said, grabbing her cup.

Before she could stand, he swooped in and took the cup from her. "Allow me. How do you take it?"

"Well, I don't suppose soy milk or two pumps of sugar free vanilla have magically appeared in the kitchen in the past twenty minutes," she said with laugh.

"Mmm, no probably not. I got two percent milk at the store—do you want that?"

"No thanks; black will be fine."

"Well, at least now I know your coffee order." He smiled before walking off. A minute later, he returned her mug and then disappeared back into the kitchen. When he returned again, he balanced a coffee mug in one hand and a practically overflowing bowl of cereal in the other.

Much to her annoyance, he set the coffee mug down on the table on top of one of the papers when he sat down beside her. She turned her head towards him, her opinion of his actions plainly showing, and watched him slurp in an oversized spoonful. Her initial irritation faltered when she spotted the contents of his bowl. "Is that…Lucky Charms?"

"Yeah," he said, munching loudly. "Want some?"

Her brow furrowed with mild horror at the question. "No, I don't want some—I'm an adult; I do not eat Lucky Charms."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I bet you eat really boring cereal like oatmeal-"

"I like oatmeal!"

"-or something with lots of fiber that tastes like cardboard," he finished.

She arched an eyebrow. "Because those little multicolored marshmallows are delectable?"

He slurped in another spoonful. "Absolutely."

"You are aware you're thirty-eight, right?"

"Yeah I know that; how do you know that?"

"Your police file."

"Oh."

After he finished his cereal, he put the bowl aside and picked up his coffee mug. "So," he said, clasping it between his hands, "find anything that miraculously absolves me of any wrongdoing?"

She let out a breathy "Hmmph." "No, unfortunately not, though I'm thinking we should actually go back and start where Anthony started—with the arrests and the disappearing evidence. The only problem is I left all those notes back at home and I didn't bring my laptop with me because I didn't really plan on staying too long."

"So where does that leave us?"

"Well, I'll go home, run through the cases, and call you if I have questions." She stated simply.

His rebuttal was immediate. "No way—I want to come."

She blinked at him. "You cannot possibly be serious."

"Sure I am."

She rotated her body so that she was facing him on the couch. "Castle, you can't come back to the city."

"Why not? Let's face it—you need my help. I'm the one that went through these things with Tony."

She didn't deny his assistance could be necessary, which was why they still had their burner phones. "And if I have questions I'll call you."

He shook his head, refuting her idea. "It's not the same. I can help you Kate, I promise."

Grumbling, Kate stood from the couch and walked around in front of the coffee table so she faced him. She folded her arms over her chest and pressed one of her hips out. "So what are you going to do? Set up camp in some hot sheet motel again? Someone else will call you in."

"Ah!" He stood and held up an index finger. Then, he disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a plastic bag and pulled and odd gray-toned object from it. "No they won't—not with this." To his face, he held up an extraordinarily fake looking beard that fell to his mid-chest.

Kate blinked at the most ridiculous disguise she'd ever seen. "You look like an extra from Duck Dynasty."

He dropped his hands to waist-level. "But you don't recognize me do you?"

When he put the beard back into place, she eyed him dubiously. "Barely. Where'd you get that thing, anyway?"

"Wal-Mart."

"You went to a Wal-Mart!? When?"

"On the way here Friday. Why?" he asked. "Do you have something against Wal-Mart?"

"No, I have something against you, the fugitive I'm assisting, spending in more public than he has to!"

"I had to pee! What was I supposed to do?" He defended.

As Castle played with his fake beard, Kate paced the room and thought. Castle did have a point. What if she did need his opinion on something? Something he needed to see? She couldn't drive two hours to Pennsylvania every time she needed to ask him something—that would waste time. Not to mention it was ridiculous. Plus, she felt guilty leaving Castle in her father's cabin for longer than she had to.

"Okay, you're right," she said finally. "You should come back to the city."

"YES!" He cheered, balling his fist and punching the air.

"But you're going to have to stay in my apartment."

Castle's fist dropped along with his expression. "Jesus Kate – are you trying to challenge my record for most-felonies-accumulated-in-a-week?" She eyed him curiously and he continued. "C'mon, I'm not stupid. I know what adding and abetting is."

She merely shrugged. "No worse than us having this conversation right here. If we get caught, they won't care if I own this cabin or my father does. Plus, this is even worse since we crossed state lines."

He considered this a moment before saying, "Alright, I won't complain—I like being front and center." He grinned. "This is exciting! Well, it would be if I wasn't facing jail time," he added at her perturbed expression.

"Now the problem is: how do we get you there?" Kate asked aloud. Castle held up the fake beard with an irritatingly large grin. "Slow down there, Dumbledore; I've got to get the car back to my father too."

He pointed at her with his index finger and thumb and then jerked his thumb down like he was shooting an invisible gun. "Excellent reference! I like it! Too bad this beard doesn't come with magical powers."

As Kate cleaned up her notes and returned them to her purse, she thought about what steps they would need to take to not only return Castle to Manhattan, but also to her apartment. Everything needed to go as smoothly as possible and even then there were dozens places where things could go wrong and they could both get caught. "Okay," she said finally, "this is how it's going to go."

Castle sat down on the couch and looked up at her just like a child would to a parent planning a vacation to Disney World. "I'm going to drive us White Plains and drop you off a few blocks from the train station. You're going to go in, and buy a ticket to Grand Central. I'm going to go back to my father's and wait around long enough so that I'm on the next train. Once you get to Manhattan lie low and move only in large crowds. I'm going to give you the address to my apartment—don't take the subway there. Stay on the street. You'll have time to kill anyway since I'm on a later train. When I get home, I'll text you. You can meet me in the alley behind my apartment and I'll let you in the back stairs. Got it?"

"Yep! Except one tiny problem." He held up his index finger and thumb close together.

"Yes?"

"I don't think I have enough money for the ticket," he said with a grimace. "I had to hawk my last Rolex to get a ride here and I spent a bunch of cash on the groceries."

Kate nodded and retrieved her purse. She dug in her wallet and pulled out her last two twenties. She wanted to keep the trip cash-only, but since she could use visiting her father as a cover, paying with plastic on the return trip was not an unacceptable option.

"Sorry," he added when she pressed the bills into his hand.

"No, it's fine." Then, with a smile, she added, "I know you're good for it."

Kate finished packing her purse and Castle packed his worn clothes into the laptop case she'd delivered with his fresh set. After grabbing his box of Lucky Charms for the ride, they piled into her father's vehicle and took the roads leading to New York.

Once they were on the road, Kate glanced over at her travel companion, whose fist was stuffed down into his cereal box as he snacked, and asked, "So…how did you get to the cabin?"

"Ah well," he stuffed a handful of marshmallows into his mouth, "after I left you, I made my way to the highway where I hitchhiked with a trucker. Bribed him with my last Rolex to take me to the Pennsylvania boarder. He dropped me off at the Walmart—that's when I got my beard and some snacks. I got a cab from the Walmart and had it drop me off at the general store in Mayberry and from there I walked."

Kate nodded. "And you don't think anyone noticed you?"

"Well, the clerk at the store looked at me kinda funny, but I was wearing the beard at that point, so it may have been that."

"You don't say," she commented. After a few minutes of silence she looked at him and said, "Can I ask you one thing that's been bothering me?"

"Hmm?"

"That night at your house in the Hamptons…what was that smoke bomb you threw at me?"

Castle laughed at her utter confusion. "It was a magic trick," he told her simply.

She arched her eyebrow as she watched the road for traffic. "A magic trick?"

"Yeah, just a little toy to create a cloud of smoke to disappear into…course I threw eight of them at you at once."

"I see…"

For the remainder of their ride they were mostly silent. Only occasionally would they talk about traffic, which was very light on a Sunday morning, or another sight they passed along the road, including an SUV with the windows down showing the five golden retrievers riding inside.

When they arrived in White Plains, Kate pulled the car into a parking lot a few blocks from the train station. "You can take the next available train. I'll wait around for about an hour and then I'll go to the station; I'll text you when I'm leaving.

"Got it," he responded. He put on his beard and reached for the door handle, but before he could get out, she stopped him.

"And Castle-"

"I know," he interrupted her. "Don't get caught."

* * *

All things considered, their plan went just as well as could be expected. When Kate returned to her father's home, she hesitated telling him about her new plan, but at the same time knew she couldn't lie to him. She had never been able to lie effectively to her father, not even as a teenager, and she knew better than to try as an adult.

As she told him the plan, he eyed her skeptically. She couldn't blame him. Rationally she knew it was a terrible idea brining Castle back to the city and into her home, but she could not see another way to both keep him safe and use him to assist her in solving the case. Her father didn't need to tell her any of that; she saw it all over his face.

When, after an hour passed, she asked him to drive her to the train station he did so, though reluctantly. She hugged him goodbye, smiled and said, "I'll call you if I get arrested." Then, without sticking around too long to see his perturbed expression, she entered the train station and purchased her ticket back to Manhattan.

Once on the train, she texted Castle to give him her estimated time of arrival in the city. Given that the ride from White Plains to Grand Central was only about forty-five minutes long, she knew he'd probably already arrived at the station. He confirmed that when he replied to her text and told her that he was hiding in a bathroom. She honestly wasn't sure if he was serious or not, but then she decided she didn't need to know.

On the ride back, Kate tried to distract herself with some online shopping via her phone, though she was unsuccessful. Her stomach was churning at the thought of Castle roaming the streets of New York wearing that ridiculous beard. Honestly, she didn't know what would be worse: wearing the beard, which would surely get him recognized as being bizarre if nothing else, or not wearing the beard and risking recognition since his face had been plastered all over the city.

Knowing the longer he spent on the streets the more dangerous it was for them, Kate hailed a cab at the train station and directed the cabbie towards her apartment. As she rode, she texted Castle to meet her in the alley behind her apartment building and he responded that he was already on his way. After paying for the cab, Kate ducked into the lobby and went directly to the emergency stairs at the back of the building. She cautiously opened the doors to the alley and jumped when his bearded face appeared in the crack. "Shit, Castle!"

"Sorry," he said softly, ducking inside the stairway and shutting the door delicately behind him.

"It's fine," she said, clutching her chest as her heart raced. "I just forgot how stupid you looked in that beard."

"Really? I thought I was really working it," he informed her.

She rolled her eyes, but refused to comment. "Do you think anyone followed you?"

"I don't think anyone noticed me. I hung around a bus group of Asian tourists at Grand Central for a while-"

"Oh I'm sure you blended in well with them…"

"I did…well, I would have if I wasn't the tallest one there… Anyway, then I took a bunch of different side streets on my way back here; I'm sure no one followed me," he explained.

"Good." Truthfully, she wasn't as confident as she let on. She knew for the next few hours she'd be waiting with bated breath for her door to be broken down by a hoard of FBI agents there to arrest them both.

Upstairs in her apartment, she gave Castle a brief tour before grabbing her laptop heading into her dining room and getting to work. She decided the only way she was going to solve the case was to go back to an old standby; the piece-de-resistance from her homicide days. She was going to create a murder board.

"Okay, let's start laying out what we know about all the cases with the missing drugs here." She gestured to the dining room table. Then turned behind her and opened the shutters of the frosted glass window there. "And we'll put everything about Anthony Senior's death up here. Can you go get the case file? I printed most of it; I think it's on the kitchen counter."

Castle nodded and disappeared, returning a moment later with a manila file folder in hand. As she sorted through the evidence from the drug cases, he taped up the case file pieces and tagged certain pieces with stickie notes of his own, highlighting the important pieces. They worked together in silence for nearly an hour.

"I just don't know, Castle," Kate sighed. She turned around and found him watching her. "These cases are from three different precincts and they take place over a thirteen month time span. What's the connection between them?"

Castle thought for a moment before the idea came to him. He circled the table so the he was facing her, leaning over all the documents. "What if its not a what? What if it's a who? What if the connection is a single person—the dirty cop behind all of this."

Kate dragged her teeth across her bottom lip and stared down at the pages. "It would be highly unlikely for one cop to be transferred to three different precincts in the course of a year; transfers aren't that easy to come by."

"Then what if it's a group of cops? A group of dirty cops working together," he suggested.

"Castle, do you know how many cops work in a single precinct at any given time? No two cases have the same arresting officer. We'd have to look through each precinct's rosters for the whole time period."

"Could we do that?" he asked. "I mean, could I? If I can't leave this apartment, I've got time to kill."

Kate considered that for a moment. "I suppose I could request that information tomorrow, but you have to know it's a long shot."

"But it's a shot," he pointed out.

Turning her back on the table of drug arrest cases for the time being, Kate focused her attention on the wall of details on Anthony Senior's murder that Castle had created. For the most part, it was information she'd already reviewed, but she scanned the pages once more just in case she'd missed something. On the last page of the report, the detective in charge made a single sentence note that there was one other vehicle damaged in the accident. When the detective's car had spun after being hit by the tow truck, it had struck a green Honda sedan. The license plate of the vehicle was listed along with the name of the driver. Upon reading the name, Kate gasped.

"Castle!" She yanked the report page off the wall and shoved it towards him. "I don't know how we didn't see this before but look! Look!"

He grabbed the page and scanned his eyes over it frantically. He saw nothing to be overly excited about so he looked back to her. "Where? What am I looking at?"

"There! Halfway down the page. The sentence begins, 'One other vehicle was involved…'"

Castle scanned the center of the page until he saw it and began reading aloud. "'One other vehicle was involved in the incident. Detective Ciardi's cruiser struck a green 2001 Honda sedan while spinning. The vehicle, registered to-'" He stopped reading and looked up at Kate. "Oh my god!"


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: First, thanks to __**dtrekker**__ for the new story cover art!_

_Second, the next update won't be until Sunday, because I'm going to Comic Con to meet Nathan Fillion! :)_

* * *

**Eleven**

"Pamela Mackey! Pamela Mackey was driving the other vehicle involved in Anthony Ciardi's crash!"

Kate nodded, her eyes wide.

"This isn't a coincidence. She knew—she knew something! Damn it, why is she dead?! We could really use her right now!" Castle groaned as he tossed the paper from Anthony Senior's accident report onto the table.

"I know; I can't believe I didn't see it before." Kate shook her head, disappointed in herself for not noticing. Then again, Pamela's name was only mentioned once in the report and at the very end; it wasn't surprising she had missed it.

"Alright, alright." Castle paced the small space around the table as the pieces of the story formed together in his mind. "Pamela Mackey was close enough to the accident to become collateral damage when the detective's car spun around after being hit. Maybe that means she saw the driver of the tow truck—maybe she could identify him. Assuming for a second that the dirty cops wanted Anthony dead, they would have also been in a position to realize that Pamela was a witness, so they bought her off or scared her into silence after the crash."

Castle stopped, looked at Kate and snapped his fingers. "That's it! Tony must have read this report—he must have figured out she was someone we should talk to, but she was avoiding his calls. When he finally got ahold of her, whoever set this thing up realized he was getting too close, so they killed Pamela so she couldn't talk, Tony because he was investigating and set me up for the whole thing. Damn it!"

Kate sighed and rested her hands on her hips. She had to admit, the story was plausible. More than plausible, actually; it made quite a bit of sense. Unfortunately, it was still based on a number of assumptions, the first and largest of which being that the dirty cops existed in the first place.

"It all sounds good, Castle; but we need proof."

He ran his fingertips over his chin. "Can we run Pamela's financial records?"

"Already have 'em," Kate informed him with a smile. She grabbed her laptop and hunched over it, her forearms resting on the table. She clicked the icon link on her desktop and logged in to the FBI intranet.

"How far back can you go?" he asked as he watched her type.

"As far back as we need."

Castle walked around behind her and watched over her shoulder as she scanned through documents. "I would just like to take this opportunity to say that I'm officially creeped out by the ease at which the FBI can access information."

She glanced up over her shoulder at him. "Then I won't show you the file they have on you."

Castle shivered. "Please don't; I'd rather not know."

Kate clicked through Pamela's files until she came to the financial records section. The FBI pulled the past five years of her records just in case they were necessary. Fortunately, Anthony senior's death fell in that five year time window.

"Hey, speaking of financials," Castle began as Kate skimmed the information. "Did you request Anthony Senior's?"

"Yes, while I was at my father's house."

"Oh really? The FBI has lackeys available on a Sunday?" he asked with a light chuckle.

Kate let out an exhale. "Actually, I didn't request them from the FBI; I requested them from the NYPD."

His brow furrowed. "The NYPD?"

Kate raised herself to an upright position and rounded her shoulders. "Yes. I'm not supposed to be investigating Anthony Senior and my so-called partner, Agent Banner, gets copied on all my information requests, so I couldn't risk him seeing what I was doing."

"Then who'd you request the information from?"

"I called in a favor with one of my old partners at the Twelfth."

"And," Castle asked cautiously, "you can trust him?"

She smiled and turned back to her laptop. "Of course. I only told him as much as I had to and he said he'd have the information to me as soon as he could. Ah! Here they are." She gestured towards the laptop screen to reveal the financial information for Pamela Mackey.

Kate and Castle sat side-by-side at the computer as she clicked through the financial records for the few months before Anthony Senior's death and in the months following. Castle had no idea what he was looking at—to him, it was just a bunch of numbers. Sure, he was able to pick up on what he assumed to be her paycheck, as it was a biweekly deposit of a similar amount of money, but beyond that it just seemed to be a bunch of miscellaneous transactions, so he waited for Kate's opinion.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," she concluded finally.

Glancing at her and then back at the screen he asked, "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Pamela didn't receive any electronics payments for odd amounts. Nor did she have any unusual deposit in her history. Unless they paid her with cash she stuffed into her mattress, she wasn't bought off."

"They still could have threatened her into silence," Castle pointed out. Kate nodded, agreeing to this.

Castle stood and walked around the table once more, thinking back through everything he knew about Pamela. At that point, it was very little, which irritated him since he was accused of ending her life. He thought for several more minutes before an idea came to him. His head whipped towards Kate's and he saw she was smiling. "What?"

"Go ahead."

"No, what?"

"I think I know what you're going to say."

"What am I going to say?"

"What if Pamela Mackey was involved?"

Castle did a double take at her. "That's what I was going to say!" He exclaimed with such great excitement that Kate laughed.

"Seriously! It could make sense. Shit, it could all make sense!" As he talked, he began to pace again. "Pamela was in on it the whole time…She-she was driving right behind Anthony Senior. Maybe she was even radioing to the guy in the tow truck so he knew when Anthony Senior crossed into that intersection!"

"Radioing?" Kate questioned. "This was only a few years ago, Castle; there were cell phones."

He gave her an unappreciative look. "Whatever! You know what I'm saying—she was in on it. She had to be. Maybe she still is—er, was. So when Tony kept calling her, she got spooked. Maybe she was meant to lure him into get murdered, but whoever the murderer is got sick of her and offed them both! The possibilities are endless!"

"I agree," Kate said. "So we need to narrow them down."

"Right—you're right. We need to look into Pamela's life. We can do interviews! We can visit her place of work! Interview her family!"

Kate held out her hands, palms facing towards him. "Whoa, slow down there, Columbo. You're right, I need to do all of that, but it's a Sunday afternoon so just take a deep breath. Besides, even if I do go and visit these people, you're not coming with me."

Castle's expression fell. "What do you mean?"

She threw her hands up in frustration. "Hello! Accused felon! Are you out of your mind?"

"But…my disguise…"

"Is dreadful," she told him. A wounded look crossed his face and Kate felt a momentary pang of guilt. "Look, Castle, I appreciate that you want to help, I truly do, but right now it's more important for you to stay out of prison then for you to help."

He grumbled and turned his attention towards the floor, where he scuffed his toe across the hardwood. "Fine."

Figuring food might be a good distraction for him, Kate suggested, "How about I go and get us some dinner?"

Castle's expression perked at the thought. "Oh, yeah, I could eat."

"Me too," she said, rubbing her belly. Why hadn't she noticed how hungry she was before? Suddenly, she was ravenous. When was the last time she ate, anyway? "What are you in the mood for?"

He walked a few steps closer to her. "Well, if you don't mind a bit of grocery shopping, I'd like to make you a proper dinner tonight."

Her expression softened at his sweet gesture. "Oh, Castle, that's nice, but you really don't have to go to any trouble-"

"No trouble," he cut her off, smiling. "Consider it a thank you for…aiding and abetting me." Kate agreed with a nod and waited while he wrote out a grocery list. "By the way," he said after handing it to her, "is it okay if I use your computer while you're gone?" She gazed at him hesitantly and he quickly added, "I won't send out any emails or smoke signals I swear—I just want to look at the case files some more."

"Case files only," she warned before grabbing her purse and heading out the door.

* * *

An hour later, loaded down with shopping bags, Kate returned to the apartment after retrieving everything on Castle's grocery list. It amused her how specific he was about certain things, like getting fresh herbs, not dried, and organic, free-range chicken. Yet, she had watched him shovel down Lucky Charms not twelve hours earlier.

She set all the bags down in the kitchen and then walked into the main room to find him hunched over her laptop with intense concentration. "You know, when I said you could use my laptop, I thought not looking at porn was implied."

He glanced up at her. "Funny. But I assure you, this is the furthest thing from porn."

Kate walked around behind him and saw that he had discovered the crime scene photos from Anthony's apartment and was scrolling through them. She imagined reviewing at the photographs transported him right back to that moment, which must have been quite horrifying for him.

"You know it's funny," he began, almost as though he had read her mind. "Even though I was there, looking at these still doesn't seem real—it feels like a dream. Well, I guess more accurately a nightmare."

"I know," she said, patting his shoulder gently.

He closed out the pictures on the screen and walked into the kitchen. As he sorted through the groceries, she sat at one of the bar stools at her kitchen counter, watching him. "You always hear about criminals who go on the run and I always wondered why they did that. I mean, why would you do something that stupid? You know you're going to get caught. Do you think by running you're just erasing what happened?"

"People always seem to have the 'It won't happen to me' mentality," Kate pointed out.

He nodded. "I suppose. But, it's an odd thing—you never really know how you're going to react. You don't want to know. Standing there in Tony's apartment, looking down at his body my brain just kept telling me to run. Rationally I knew I shouldn't, but it just kept screaming 'Run! Run you idiot!' But I didn't…I believed in the justice system; I believed that because I was innocent, they would see that too. Ironic," he added with a bitter laugh.

"You did end up running, though," she pointed out.

He looked over at her. "Only after I realized I was being shanghaied."

He asked Kate to direct him to knives, a cutting board, and a skillet in her kitchen. After she did, he sliced the chicken breast pieces and plopped them into the skillet along with some olive oil and onions he'd chopped. As he worked, she watched, following the steady movements of his knife with her eyes and thinking about his situation.

"Castle?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask…how did you escape in the first place?" She remembered briefly wondering about his situation on her drive to his Hampton's home five days before. It was fairly uncommon for criminals to escape police custody, even less common during their transfer to central booking, as they were typically heavily guarded at that point.

"Ah," he smiled at her, "a magician never reveals his secrets."

She curled her lip a she looked at him, not buying such a bullshit line.

"I think in this case the less you know the better, but let's just say my lawyer is worth every penny of his exorbitant salary."

She nodded and thought on that for a moment, wondering what it could have possibly meant. She hoped that someday he might tell her the truth, but for the moment she would choose to be satisfied with his cryptic response.

After a few more minutes of watching him prepare food, she realized she should offer to help. When she did, he refused politely, saying there was no need; he had a handle on everything. Kate then went to the refrigerator and retrieved a beer for each of them. Upon taking a long swig of hers, she looked over to him and sighed. "I'm really sorry you got involved in all this, Castle."

"I'm not," he said firmly. At her questioning expression, he continued, walking towards her and wiping his hands on the towel he'd thrown over his shoulder. "Okay, obviously I would prefer not to go to jail, but look at everything we've uncovered. How great will it be if we can find whoever killed Anthony Senior? No one even knows he was murdered! No one would have known either, if it wasn't for you."

Feeling her cheeks flush at his words, Kate looked away and took another sip of her drink. "Me? Don't give me too much credit here. You did all the heavy lifting."

"Which wouldn't have gone anywhere if you hadn't listened to the crazed ramblings of a man on the run."

She looked back at him with a bemused expression, hardly able to keep a straight face as she teased him. "To be fair, I mostly listened to the evidence, not you." He gave her a look and a smile burst onto her face. "Kidding."

"Well I'm not," he said, leaning his forearms against the counter across from her. "You are an extraordinary woman, Kate, and no matter what happens—no matter how this thing ends—I'll always be grateful for everything you've done."

He held her gaze for another moment and then turned back to the chicken cooking on the stove. Kate rubbed her hand across the back of her neck, hoping her cheeks weren't turning too red at his comment. She could feel her heart palpitating and her lack of control of it annoyed her. She took another sip of beer. "You're right—no matter what happens, we're doing the right thing here. You don't know how important closure is for a victim's family."

Castle studied her as she sat at the counter, picking at the label on her beer bottle and avoiding his gaze. Something in her tone told him that her comment came more from just a cop's perspective. No, if he had to guess, it came from a victim's perspective. But what, he wondered, was she the victim of?

The sizzle of the skillet he was babysitting forced him to tear his gaze from her and back to the stove. Once the chicken was finished cooking, he divided his stir-fry concoction evenly between two plates, garnished them both with a few sprigs of fresh herbs. He placed one plate in front of her with a sweeping hand gesture. "Bon appetite!"

She smiled gently at him. "Thanks Castle; it looks great."

As they began to eat, Castle directed the conversation back to her comment from a few minutes earlier. "I can only imagine how difficult it would be as an investigator not to be able to provide that closure for a family." Okay, so maybe he was baiting her a bit, but he couldn't suppress his writer's curiosity and was hoping that maybe she'd bite.

Kate stabbed at a piece of chicken with her fork, but suddenly she wasn't as hungry as she'd been an hour earlier. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach: that ache, that same feeling—the one she'd bottled inside for so many years. She hid it away, afraid to let it out for fear she'd never be able to seal it up again.

As a cop, she was trained never to show weakness, especially not in the field. Somehow, though, she'd adapted that practice to her whole life, as if every second of every day was lived on the battlefield. Emotion was a weakness and a vulnerability she couldn't afford there and she never before questioned her decision to keep it all inside. Then why, she wondered, in that moment, did she feel the urge to let it out?

She felt it bubbling to the surface, an uncontainable force. It had happened before, and she'd burrowed it down, but doing so was so exhausting, so draining, she wondered what would happen if she just let it out. So she did. "My mother was murdered."

Kate set down her fork and looked up at him after the words left her mouth. Seeing that she had his undivided attention, she continued. "Ten years ago, she was stabbed and left in an alley. The cops said it was a mugging, a random incident, and they never found the person responsible."

Castle nodded slowly. For him, that one paragraph illuminated her entire story. The pieces zoomed across his mind and linked up. He'd only known her for a few days, but in that moment he felt as though he understood her story completely. "That's why you decided not to go to law school and you went to the police academy instead. You wanted to bring justice and closure to others so they wouldn't face the same void you did."

For a moment, the accuracy of his observation alarmed her, but then she realized she didn't care if he knew the truth about her. Given everything they'd gone through together in the prior few days, it seemed like a fair trade. "Yeah," she said breathily. "Something like that."

"For the record," he said, turning back to his meal, "I find you even more extraordinary now."

She smiled and picked up her fork. "Well, you're not so bad yourself."

After they finished their meal and cleaned up the kitchen together, they retired to Kate's couch. She picked through the drug case files on her computer, making one last ditch effort to find common ground among them. She'd read through each file at least twice, but she hoped a third time would be the charm and a name would jump out at her, just like Pamela Mackey's had in Anthony Senior's accident file. As she read, Castle flipped through the channels on her TV with the volume on low.

"Well, I think I'm going to get ready for bed." Kate announced, rubbing her tired eyes. Her document review had revealed no new useable evidence, just as she feared.

Castle glanced at the clock and then back at her. "It's 9:45."

"And tomorrow's a Monday so I have to be at work early for a department meeting. Not all of us have the luxury of a cushy writer's schedule, Castle," she pointed out.

"Hey! My schedule isn't cushy!" He defended. She gave him an expression making it clear she didn't believe him. "It's not! You have no idea how often I'm up until two, three in the morning finishing my chapters before they're due."

"And," she said, standing, "I don't suppose this would be because you procrastinated at all?"

He gasped a dramatic, obviously fake gasp. "Procrastinate! I don't know the meaning of the word."

"I'm sure."

Kate left the siting room and walked into her bedroom, where she knelt down and pulled a long narrow storage container from under the bed. From it, she pulled two sheets and a spare pillow, all of which she carried back to the sitting room with her. "Here," she said, plopping the pile down on the coffee table. "For you; for the couch."

He smiled at her and nodded. "Thanks. And Kate." He stood and took two steps forward. "Thank you, for doing all this. I don't think I ever truly thanked you for not turning me in all the times you could have. And now, for letting me stay here…I really am grateful."

"I know and you're welcome. I hope you sleep well."

"Goodnight Kate," he said simply before watching her walk into her bedroom and shut the door behind her.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Thanks for being patient waiting for the next chapter! I did meet Nathan Fillion yesterday at Comic Con and everything everyone says about him is true - he is such a nice/great guy! I got his autograph first and was able to tell him that I loved Castle and he thanked me for watching. Then, a few hours later, I got my picture with him and he remembered me! f you guys read my Tumblr Blog (skygirl5) I'll be posting a full recap later today!_

_Now on to the story!_

* * *

**Twelve**

The next morning, when Kate's alarm sounded at the inconvenient time of 5:50 a.m. she considered hitting the snooze button. After all, that was the exact reason she gave herself the extra ten minute window, particularly for mornings like that, when her sleep the night before had been fitful and interrupted at best. It happened to her on occasion, particularly when she was deep in a case. Her mind would race, thinking through the evidence at night, and no matter how much she tried to turn it off, she always seemed to fail.

Unfortunately, that morning she did not feel she had the luxury of the snooze button. She needed to get up and get going, especially since for the first time in quite some time she was not alone in her apartment.

Groaning as she pulled on her robe, she stuffed her feet in her slippers and tip-toed as quietly as she could into the kitchen. She pressed the button on her single-cup coffee maker (her favorite gift from her father the previous Christmas) and leaned against the counter for wait for it to brew. As she waited, her gaze drifted towards her sitting room. Upon sight of the mess, her eyes widened and she wasn't sure she would need coffee that morning to wake up.

Though the sun had not yet risen she could plainly see Castle's outline from the glow of the television, which he had evidently left on. He lay on his back with one arm folded over his chest and the other dangling towards the floor. Similarly, one leg was fully covered by the sheet while one stuck out, foot resting on the floor, knee bent ninety degrees. One of the sheets appeared to be balled up at the end of the couch opposite his head. On the floor by the coffee table she spotted two more small piles, which she assumed to be his jeans and button-down shirt. Shaking her head wordlessly, Kate picked up her coffee mug from under the dispenser and carried it with her into the bathroom.

Forty minutes later, Kate emerged, fully dressed, makeup on, and hair falling in large curls just below her shoulder. She walked to the kitchen, rinsed her coffee cup in the sink and then turned to the freezer to pull out her frozen pack of English muffins. As she waited for them to toast, her eyes drifted back to the sofa, where Castle was still sleeping.

As she watched his hand on his chest rise and fall with even intervals, Kate thought about how peculiar their situation was, but not in the obvious way. It was peculiar that he, an escaped felon, was residing in her apartment (albeit temporarily) and that was certainly not a scenario she was keen to repeat under any circumstances. However, to her, the more peculiar thing was that she had absolutely no problem with him, a virtual stranger, staying with her.

Ever since her youth, Kate had always been one who was slow to warm up to people. Friends, teachers, coworkers—it didn't matter. She was always polite and possessed the cursory level of friendliness, but would not go out of her way to warm up to someone until months after she'd met them. Her parents used to joke that she began practicing to be a lawyer straight out of the womb, and she couldn't say she disagreed.

In addition to keeping her emotions and opinions close, Kate was particularly selective about who she let in her home. Even after weeks of working with or even dating someone, she did not like to have them in her house for an extended period of time, particularly not overnight. She always feared feeling uncomfortable around them and, generally, she did end up feeling uncomfortable around those she did not know well. Except for Castle.

She couldn't explain it despite several sessions mental discussion in attempt to figure it out. Right from the beginning, she felt comfortable with him. Comfortable enough to risk her career and life as it was to help him. Comfortable enough to join him at her father's cabin and comfortable enough to invite him into her own home without even a second thought. After not even one week, she felt more comfortable with him than other's she'd known for months which was a thought that, if she let it fully process in her brain, would absolutely terrify her.

After slathering half her English muffin with peanut butter, Kate took it with her into her bedroom when she went to retrieve shoes and the earrings she'd forgotten. Back in the kitchen, she at the other half of her breakfast and glanced at the clock on the stove. She really needed to be leaving soon or she would be late, but she also didn't want to leave without speaking to Castle. She'd hoped he would be awake, especially with the noise she had been making—not to mention the aroma of coffee—but it appeared he was a heavy sleeper.

With a sigh, Kate walked in to the sitting room, crouched by his head and tapped his shoulder. He grunted. She tapped it again; he grunted again. Finally, she said "Castle." He mumbled something incoherent.

"Castle, listen to me—I have to go to work. I want you to stay in the apartment. You're not allowed to leave. Or call anyone. Or go in the internet and email anyone. Got it?"

He grumbled.

"Castle!"

That tone, her time was sharp enough for him to open his eyes and wave his hand at her. "Yeah, yeah, I got it."

When he shut his eyes once more she stood and planted her fists on her hips. "Castle, open your eyes and look at me." She felt like a mother trying to rouse a teenage son. When he did as she requested she asked, "Did you hear what I said?"

"Don't leave. No internet. Bye." With that, he rolled over to face the back of the couch.

Rolling her eyes, Kate decided that was the best she would get out of him. She grabbed her oversized purse, badge, and service weapon and then headed towards the door. When she reached it, she glanced back over her shoulder once before opening it, silently thinking he needed to obey her request—or else.

Stepping in to the FBI main room, Kate felt like she was waking up from the haze of a dream. For the prior thirty-six hours, she hadn't lived in a world where she was a duty-following FBI Agent. Instead, she had both feet firmly planted in the gray area of life, where she was still an investigator, but plainly operating outside the law.

Trying to make as little contact with her coworkers as she could, she hurried to her desk, booted up her computer, and scanned that morning's briefing. It told her something she already knew: Richard Castle was still on the run. Though they were still receiving tips, very few of them were credible enough to follow up on and even fewer of those resulted in viable leads.

Before she forgot, Kate used her work email to draft a request for the NYPD precinct employment records she and Castle wanted to further Detective Ciardi Senior's investigation. True, by requesting the information through the FBI, she ran the risk of Banner discovering her request and prying into her actions, but that was a risk she needed to take. At that point, nearly a week after the murders, time was of the absolute essence. She could not waste one minute longer than necessary going through back channels or coming up with a convenient way to request the information without Banner's knowledge. She was merely banking on the fact that Banner was much too distracted with hunting the fugitive writer than to check every copied data request the came into his inbox.

She finished the email just in time for the morning briefing meeting. Grabbing her coffee, two pens and note pad, Kate filed into the conference room with the rest of her coworkers. She sat down, took a deep breath and coached herself into having a non-expressive face. No matter what Banner said, no matter what took place in that meeting, she would not react.

When Banner stepped in front of the group, he did not immediately begin speaking. Instead, he stroked his mustache and stared down at the table in front of them. "Listen, team, I'm not going to sugar coat this shit for you: the situation isn't good. This son of a bitch is still on the loose and we're no closer to catching him than we were on Friday."

"Are we still receiving tips, sir?" Ling asked.

"Yeah but they're all shit! Nothing credible…just a bunch of wild goose chases. It's getting to be do-or-die time, folks. Upon reviewing the evidence, it has been decided that when he is caught, among other charges, Mr. Castle will be charged with Capital Murder."

Kate felt her chest constrict at his words and it took every ounce of self-control in her body for her eyes not to widen and her jaw not to drop. Normally, as an investigator, she would have cheered such a charge, but in this case, the prospect of something that dire terrified her beyond words.

"Mr. Castle's actions both before and after these murders clearly indicate premeditation, and we remain confident that a conviction will be reached on that charge, but we have to catch the bastard first!"

Banner continued the meeting by rehashing the evidence against Castle and ended with an atypical rah-rah speech in an attempt to rally the troops and renew their motivation to find the suspect. Kate paid little attention. She mainly focused on exchanging carbon dioxide with oxygen while keeping her heart rate at an even pace and her face expressionless.

Back at her desk, Kate attempted to process what exactly the results of the meeting meant for her and Castle's investigation, when her thoughts were interrupted by the ring of a cell phone she didn't recognize. Oddly, it sounded as though it was very close to her. For a moment, she searched her desk area, befuddled, until, with a pang of horror, she remembered the burner phone she'd left in her purse. A cold sweat breaking out on her forehead, Kate dipped her hand into her bag and answered the phone as quietly as she could.

"Hey, question." She heard Castle's chipper voice on the other end. "What's the name of the salon where Pamela Mackey worked?"

"Why," she asked through gritted teeth, trying to keep her voice low.

"Because I'm going to visit to see if I can talk to her boss. I looked up the address before I left your place, but now I can't remember the exact street number and I thought if you could tell me the name I could just figure it out on my own."

Kate took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, counting to three. Resisting the urge to scream out his name into the phone she instead growled, "Where are you?"

"A train platform in Jersey."

"Be more specific."

He hesitated a moment before reading off the street signs he was closest to. Kate informed him that he was not to move and she would be there as quickly as she could. She ended the call, dropped the phone in her purse and stood quickly from her seat. She turned to see agent Ling eying her curiously. "Ah…family emergency," Kate told her quickly. Then, she scurried out of the office as fast as she could without drawing too much attention to herself.

Standing underneath the bright pink awning of _Bonnie's Stylz_ wearing his beard disguise, Castle leaned casually against the brick wall, occasionally looking right and then left to see if anyone was watching him, but no one was. In doing so, he reviewed the area and determined it to be an acceptably nice area to be. Granted, nice for Jersey City wasn't exactly Manhattan-nice, but he imagined that Manhattan-nice came with a much heftier price tag than nice in that area of The Garden State.

After almost twenty minutes of waiting, he spotted a black sedan approaching and caught a glimpse of Kate behind the wheel. Upon deciding not to follow her instructions and wait at the train station, he'd texted her burner cell and told her to meet him at the hair salon. She pulled down a side street a block from the salon and Castle walked up the block to meet her.

When he rounded the corner, grin on his face, he found her standing outside the car with one hand on her hip and the other clutching her handcuffs. "Hey…whatcha doin' with those? You look like you're gonna arrest me."

"Oh, I'm thinkin' about it," she responded, taking a step towards him.

He took a step back from her. "Wha—Kate, you wouldn't!"

"What did I tell you?" She demanded.

"Well see-"

"What did I tell you?!" She repeated, louder.

His expression fell. "I know you said not to leave, but-"

"But nothing!" She shoved her cuffs back into their case and paced around the side of her car. "Jesus Christ, Castle, it's like you want to get caught. Do you know how serious this is? Do you have any idea? This morning in the briefing they said they want to charge you with Capital Murder. Do you know what that means, Castle? Do you?"

He swallowed hard and felt some beads of sweat collect on his brow. Unfortunately, he did know what that meant. "But…I thought they needed premeditation to-"

"They do and they have it—the feds say the receipt they found in your pocket for the gun proves you went with the intent to kill both Pamela and Tony. Not to mention the fact that you escaped police custody after you were arrested."

"But that receipt is totally bogus!"

She folded her arms over her chest. "Yes, I know that, and you know that, but you'd have to convince a jury. You wanna risk that?"

"No," he mumbled. Then, after a moment, he held out the coffee he'd been holding as though it were a peace offering, which, conveniently, was exactly what he needed in that particular moment. "Mid-morning pick me up?"

She eyed the cup then looked back at him. "What's this?"

He smiled at her. "Latte with soy milk and two pumps sugar free vanilla."

Somewhat startled, she gave the cup a double take. "You went into a Starbucks?!" Her tone was accusatory, though she did take the drink from him.

"Hello—disguise!" he said, pointing at the faux beard on his face.

She grunted at him before walking back towards the salon. "C'mon; let's just get this over with."

Scurrying after her he asked, "Are you mad at me?"

"Extremely."

"But why?" He whined. "I thought interviewing Pamela's coworkers was something we needed to do."

"Something _I_ need to do; not we!" she insisted. When she reached the entrance to _Bonnie's_ Kate stopped short and stared at the door. Turning around, she gaped at him. "This place isn't even open."

"Not until eleven; it's ten 'til," he said, after checking the clock on his burner phone.

"No, Idiot," she snapped. "Not on Mondays!"

Castle looked back at the sign and his chin dropped to his chest. The white sign taped to the inside of the glass door clearly stated that Bonnie's was open from eleven to seven Tuesday through Thursday, eleven to five, Friday and Saturday and was closed on Sunday and Monday. "Damn it," he sighed. When he looked at her, he saw such fury he knew that if she possessed magical powers he would have been vaporized instantly.

"So, just to recap," she began sharply. He took a step back. "You left my apartment after I specifically told you not to. Traveled to another state, risking being spotted and identified all so you could question the employees of a shop that you didn't remember the name of and, as it turns out, isn't even open today! Do you see how I could be more than a little angry with you, Castle?!"

Castle threw his hands down to his sides with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't fully think this through, and that's my bad, but can you just for one second put yourself in my shoes? At this point, my only two options if I don't want to spend the rest of my life in prison—that is assuming I don't get sentence to the death penalty when I'm wrongly convicted—are staying in your apartment forever or solving this thing myself. Don't get me wrong, your apartment is nice, but I'd like to see my mother and daughter again at some point. Not to mention that I have a lot of really cool stuff in my apartment that I'd kind of like to have!"

Kate couldn't resist letting out an almost laugh at his final sentence. With a tiny shake of her head, she bit down on her lip and grasped her coffee cup with both hands. She couldn't begin to imagine his frustration with the situation, but she also knew this was not the way to go about it. "You're forgetting one thing, Castle; you don't have to solve this thing all by yourself." He gave her a half smile and she continued. "I know this probably isn't moving as fast as you'd like, but-"

"Hey!" he interrupted her, pointing behind her and into the salon. "There's someone in there! There's someone inside!"

Kate spun around and squinted through the bars on the glass door to see that he was right; someone was indeed inside. She scooped her hand down into her pocket and pulled out her badge. She tapped it against the glass until she caught the attention of the woman inside, who nodded and approached the door. Kate turned to her companion and said, "For the love of god, just don't say anything. The last thing we need is this woman recognizing you as the man who killed her employee. Got it?"

"Fine."

The woman inside the salon unlocked the door, opened and asked with a thick Jersey accent, "Hello? Can I help you?"

"I hope so. My name is Agent Kate Beckett; I'm with the FBI. I was wondering if I might ask you some questions about Pamela Mackey."

"Oh my god," the woman gasped, pressing one hand to her chest and fully displaying the two inch fake fingernails she wore in a color that could easily be described as "Hooker Red." "Come inside please! I can't believe the FBI is investigating Pammie's death. I thought that famous guy did it!"

Kate could only imagine the incredulous expression on Castle's face as she stepped inside and said, "I'm just following up on some things. This is my, ah, associate, Mr. Richard." She added as she gestured to Castle. She could see the woman eye him oddly and realized if anyone could spot an absurdly fake beard it would be a hair dresser. "So, Ms.…I'm sorry, what was your name?"

"Bonnie," the woman said, extending her hand to Kate. "This is my place. Pammie worked here for five years. I just…I can't believe she's gone, you know?" She fanned both hands in front of her face before excusing herself and returning a moment later with a tissue. As she sniveled into it, she walked back to the front door, locked it, and then sat down in one of the chairs in the waiting area. Kate and Castle sat as well. "She was just such a sweet girl, you know? Such a sweet girl."

"I am sorry for your loss," Kate said with a sympathetic nod. "Can you tell me a bit about her? Would she have had any enemies that you know of?"

"No! Not at all! Pammie was a sweetheart! She had a _ton_ of regular clients. I just don't know what I'm going to do—I hope they don't leave the salon. I had so many calls last week—people just couldn't believe it happened! She was always so happy—never a care in the world."

"Did she have a boyfriend?"

Bonnie nodded. "Donnie—Donovan Donatelli. I saw him Saturday and, my god, he is just _devastated_. Absolutely crushed. Pam was his whole world, you know? It was heartbreaking to see him."

"Did they live together?"

The woman shook her head as she dabbed a few tears from her cheeks. "No, Donnie lived with his grandma and his grandma doesn't believe in living together before marriage. She's old fashioned, you know?"

"Were they engaged?"

Bonnie let out a little laugh. "No, Donnie was a nervous nelly when it came to that. He'd been married before and his bitch of an ex-wife screwed him over."

"So…you don't think Mr. Donatelli wanted out of the relationship?"

When Bonnie caught Kate's implication, she gasped and leaned back in her chair. "You don't think Donnie had anything to do with this, do you? Because there's _no way_. Absolutely no way! Donnie never would have hurt a hair on Pammie's head. He was nothing like that asshat she dated a few years back."

Kate's ears perked at the mention and she felt Castle incessantly begin poking her back. She had, of course, caught onto the comment and smacked his hand away as subtly as she could. "And um," Kate cleared her throat and took a sip of her coffee, trying to appear as casual as she could, "who was that?"

"'Big G,'" Bonnie said with air quotes. "Giovanni…ah, I'm sorry, I don't remember his last name. He was a total douche."

Kate nodded and tapped the name into the notes section on her phone. "About how long ago was Bonnie with him?"

"Oh gosh, I don't know. I know she was with him when she started here, but he's been gone for years. I don't think he could have done it, either, if that's what you're thinking—they broke up because he went to prison."

Kate nodded again and put her phone away. "I really appreciate your help, Bonnie. I just have one more question: do you have any employment records we could look at? You know, place of residence, emergency contacts—that sort of thing."

"Oh sure but…doesn't the FBI have all that already?" Bonnie asked.

Kate flashed her a reassuring smile. "I just want to check, if you don't mind." Bonnie shrugged and waved for them to follow her. They walked back through the salon through a back doorway. As they walked, Castle tugged at the sleeve on Kate's coat and, once again, she slapped him away. She stopped at the entryway to a small office and watched as Bonnie retrieved a file folder from a filing cabinet next to a petite desk holding a laptop.

Kate thanked Bonnie for her help and stepped aside so she could step out of the office and continue walking down the hall towards the back exit of the shop. When Bonnie was out of earshot, Castle leaned in and said, "Kate did you-" but Kate pressed her index finger against his lips silencing him as she breezed through the file. Unfortunately, there was no mention of anyone named Giovanni. Instead, Bonnie's emergency contact was listed as her mother in Hoboken, and Kate already had that contact information thanks to the FBI.

After returning the folder to the desk in the office, Kate walked towards the back of the shop where Bonnie was surveying a delivery of hair products in half a dozen boxes stacked side by side in the narrow hall. "Thank you so much for your help, Bonnie; I really appreciate it."

"No problem. You guys mind just going out the back door? It's unlocked."

"That's fine," Kate nodded. "Thanks again."

Kate could almost feel Castle's body buzzing beside her as they stepped into the alley and made their way towards the side street on which her vehicle was parked. Only once they were out of earshot of the shop did he squeak out, "Did you hear? Did you hear what she said?"

Kate responded calmly, "Yes, Castle. I was there; I heard her."

"But this could be the guy! He could totally be the guy!"

She turned her head to look at him and said, "Or, he could not be the guy. Don't get your hopes up too much. And for the love of god, get rid of that stupid beard!"

He pulled the beard down to his neck and gave her an 'are you kidding me' expression. "His nickname is Big G, Kate—Big G!"

She shrugged and continued walking. "So? Maybe he's got a big-"

"Watch out!" Castle shrieked, grabbing her by the shoulders and shoving her against the building's brick wall. Taken aback by the unexpected jolt, Kate's coffee cup slipped from her hand and she looked up just in time to see a black SUV barreling towards them. Her mind flashed back to the same style SUV that had attempted to gun them both down outside the salvage yard almost a week before.

Instinctively, she moved her hand to her hip holster, but once again Castle was in the way, pinning her arms at her sides and pushing his body against hers tight enough to press them both into the wall. Kate tucked her chin, shielding her face under Castle's jaw, as the SUV passed, traveling close enough to them to kick up a significant wind. Fortunately, there were no bullets; the only thing flying their way was a tornado of gravel mixed with a few stray bits of trash.

"Jesus Christ—learn to drive asshole!" Castle shouted at the back of the passing vehicle. He turned his gaze back to Kate, who was wide-eyed and breathing heavy. Noticing that a speck of dirt had landed on her cheek, he brought his hand up to cup her jaw and brush it away with his thumb. "Are you ok?"

Kate could feel her heart slamming against her ribcage and hear the blood pounding through the veins in her ears; she could categorically say she was not okay, but not because of the SUV. No, much to her bewilderment, it was because she could feel his body close to hers, his left hand around her bicep, his right cradling her face. Their hips separated by mere inches and their gazes locked together.

In that moment, together in a Jersey City alleyway, Kate could not explain it, but she felt it. An inexplicable force pulling her closer, deeper and suddenly, without another thought, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. She felt him respond immediately, drawing her in with his hand gently on her neck and his other slipping around to her back.

Their lips dueled until a honk from street traffic drew her back to reality. She stepped to the side and out of his embrace. He stared at her unbreathing for several moments before he breathed in sharply and exhaled with a, "So…to the car?"

"Y-yeah, the car…" Not wanting to litter, Kate bent over and scooped up her spilled coffee cup. She shook out the rest of the contents onto the street and carried it with her back to her vehicle. Behind her, Castle trudged along, still trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. All thoughts of "Big G" had vanished from his mind and suddenly the only case he wanted to study was that of Kate Beckett's lips against his.

* * *

_P.S. This chapter is my favorite in the whole story :)_


	13. Chapter 13

**Thirteen**

Back at the FBI field office, Kate sat at her desk with renewed determination. She knew she should have been listening to her own advice to Castle and not have been overly optimistic about the identity of "Big G" but they were so desperate for a break, she just couldn't help herself. Her gut told her something would come of it.

Before she could find out if Big G really was as big of an "asshat" as Bonnie proclaimed him to be, Kate first needed to find out his full name. She did some digging through Pamela's entire file, but did not see the name. Knowing she had to move this along as quickly as she could, Kate decided to phone Mackey's sister to see if she could shed some light on the identity.

Jennifer Mackey was younger than her sister by five years and, apparently, as Kate discovered, a stay-at-home mother for three young boys, all of whom were screaming in the background during their phone call. Fortunately, the difficult call panned out and Jennifer remembered her sister having a boyfriend named Giovanni Burgio a few years back. Kate thanked the woman and then hung up as she clicked through her computer screen to reach the criminal record database.

Faced with several results, Kate selected the Giovanni Burgio whose last known address was listed as Jersey City. Opening the page on his arrest history led her to smile and proclaim, "Bingo!"

Burgio's rap sheet was indeed extensive. Even better, many of his arrests centered around drugs: possession, possession with the intent to distribute, trafficking. In fact, not quite three year earlier he had been sentenced to five years for drug trafficking and was currently incarcerated in a prison upstate.

Staring at Burgio's mug shot, Kate rested her elbow on her desk and placed her chin against her first. The information helped, but was not the end-all, be-all she'd hoped for. If Burgio was in prison it made it much more difficult for him to be the man framing Castle for the double homicide. Not impossible, but more difficult.

An hour earlier, she had sent Castle back to her apartment with her spare key. Though she did not want to risk him traveling on public transportation again (even with the beard disguise) she didn't have much choice; him riding in her FBI vehicle was not an advisable alternative. As they parted, she'd promised to call him with any news on Big G but now she wasn't certain she was prepared to do that. She did not wish to shut him out of the case, but she also didn't want to rile him up without more facts.

Just as she was contemplating her next course of action, she was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. For a moment, she panicked, wondering what the hell Castle had gotten himself into that time, but then she realized it was her regular cell phone; Castle could not be contacting her through that phone as he did not even have the number.

"Beckett," she answered efficiently.

"'sup chica." The cool voice of her former partner, Javier Esposito, came through the other line.

"Hey," she said, turning her back on the hallway and lowering her voice. "Did you get the-"

"Yep, but my fee is a coffee. Where can I meet you?"

"Actually, I don't really have time so if-"

"That's cool; I understand how busy you Feds are. I guess you don't really want this information then."

She growled. "That's blackmail."

"It doesn't have to be."

She could hear the jackass-resembling smile in his tone and it made her want to slap him. Grumbling, she gave the address of a coffee shop two blocks north of the FBI field office and agreed to meet him there in half an hour.

After skimming through Burgio's arrest file again for anything relevant (there wasn't), Kate pushed herself from her desk and headed two blocks north to meet her former colleague. She spotted him through the window of the coffee shop and couldn't stop the smile from breaking out on her face. There he was, looking the same as always: jeans, t-shirt under a leather jacket, NYPD badge hanging around his neck; it was nice to see some things didn't change.

"Well look at this," he said, greeting her with a one armed hug. "If it isn't Miss I'm-too-important-to-check-in-with-my-lowly-cop-friends."

"You know that's not true, Javi," she sighed. "Things are just crazy right now. I did call Ryan back when he said he wanted to get together for dinner and I told him to say hi to everyone for me. It just hasn't worked out yet because I've been so busy." She said, referring to the third member of their homicide solving trio, Detective Kevin Ryan.

He shook his head with pursed lips. "Excuses, excuses." Then, from the inside of his jacket he pulled a manila envelope. "So…"

"Thanks!" She reached out for the envelope, but he held it just out of her grasp.

"Nope. So…?"

"So what?"

"So, I know you Beckett and I'm not an idiot. You asked me to get the financial records of Detective Anthony Ciardi Senior so I did. Funny how there was a Detective Anthony Ciardi _Junior_ murdered last week—murdered by a man the FBI is currently hunting." Esposito stared at her and held out the envelope for her to grasp.

She took it, slipped it in her purse and thanked him. Then added, "Trust me, Espo, you don't want involved in this."

"C'mon Beckett," he egged. "Make me feel like I'm part of the team again."

She let out a long exhale and eyed him for several moments. "Let's just say that Castle's innocent and-"

He held up his index finger to stop her. "Castle as in Richard Castle as in your favorite writer ever."

She clicked her tongue. "He's not my favorite writer ever."

"Please," Esposito said with a hearty amount of attitude. "You remember how Ryan and I made fun of you when you made that pit stop to pick up his Thunderstorm book the day it came out?"

"Derrick Storm," she corrected on instinct. He folded his arms over his chest and gave her an expression that said, "See." "Okay, I enjoy his books, so what? That's not why I-" she cut herself off before she revealed that she was helping him. Instead, she said, "…I think he's innocent."

Esposito continued to study her face and Kate knew he was not convinced that everything she told him was one hundred percent the truth. To be honest, she would have been disappointed if he had believed her. They had been partners for three of her five years in NYPD Homicide and she knew he knew her better than that.

"Alright, I'll accept that answer for now," he said finally. "But only if you promise to give me the full story someday."

"Deal," she agreed with a smile. "And thanks for these, Espo; I really appreciate it."

He nodded. "But I don't know why you're bothering," he added. When she looked at him questioningly, he continued. "You know as well as I do that if the FBI hasn't found Castle by now it's because he isn't going to be found. That guy has all the money in the world. If I was him, I'd be in a tropical non-extradition country sipping a pina colata, you know what I'm sayin'?"

Kate smiled and nodded. "Well, still; thanks for the info. I appreciate it."

"Anytime chica. Just don't forget—you owe me a story and it better be a damn good one."

"Trust me," she laughed, "it will be."

After returning to the FBI for a few hours to keep up the appearance that she was still working the Castle case, Kate returned home to find the man in question lying on her couch, bowl of popcorn on his chest, staring absentmindedly at the TV. "Hey."

He looked up at her as she approached. "You know, you really need to have some video games or something."

"I have books," she said, gesturing towards the shelves lining the exterior wall of the apartment. He scrunched his nose. "Um, excuse me, you're a writer. You're not allowed to turn your nose up at books."

He swung his legs down over the side of the couch and placed the popcorn bowl on the coffee table. "In general, I'm not; I'm all about books. However, there comes a point when you need another source of entertainment."

"And I have two sources: books and TV."

Sighing tragically, he shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth and mumbled out, "You find out who Big G was?"

"Oh," she said, sitting beside him, "You mean Giovanni Burgio, currently serving a nickel upstate for drug trafficking?"

His jaw dropped dramatically. "No!"

"Yep."

"So he's-"

"Don't say it," she cut him off. "Don't get your hopes up. It could be a coincidence."

He cocked his head to the side. "I thought cops weren't supposed to believe in coincidences."

"We don't."

He held opened up his arms, hands with palms up in a questioning manner.

"Okay, he's probably involved, but that's also probably something we cannot prove so just reserve your excitement, okay? At least, not until we've looked at this." From her bag, she pulled the envelope that Esposito had delivered to her.

Castle snatched it from her and flipped it over in his hands. "Oooh—what's this? Secret code? Document from a time capsule? Oh! An audio recording of Big G in prison saying 'I'll get him—and his little books too!'" he said, emulating the Wicked Witch of the West.

"Uh, none of the above actually," Kate informed him. His shoulder's dropped. "It's Anthony Senior's financial records."

Castle's expression perked once more. "Well I'll take that!"

Kate pulled open the flap on the envelope as they settled side by side on the couch. She spread the documents in front of them so they could both view them.

"What did you request?" he asked.

"The entire year before he died. This is the joint checking account for Anthony Ciardi and his wife; it was the only account he had in his name."

Kate had barely skimmed the pages for a minute before a sum jumped out at her. "There," she pointed to a deposit of nine thousand, nine hundred dollars. "Two days before his death."

"Well, that's an odd sum," Castle pointed out. "Why not an even ten grand?"

"Because any deposits over ten thousand dollars have to be reported by law," Kate informed him. "That's the perfect amount not to raise any flags."

Castle ran his fingers over the stubble accumulating on his chin as he stared at the papers. "So, two days before his death, Anthony deposited just shy of ten grand into his bank account. That would mean-"

His head snapped towards Kate's as hers did the same. In unison, they proclaimed, "He was in on it!"

"Oh my god, oh my god!" Castle proclaimed as he stood off the couch and began to pace around the room. "We had it all wrong. Anthony wasn't killed because he knew too much—he was killed because he was in on it!" His mind was racing as dozens of potential stories spun through, but which one of them made the most sense?

"Okay, okay," he decided finally. "The beginning of the story still stands: dirty cops, drug dealer in cahoots, but when Anthony finds out, he decides he wants in. They give him a cut, but he wants more—threatens to turn them in if they don't up his percent. Or maybe they didn't trust him and thought he was a liability. Either way, Anthony isn't as innocent as we thought."

Kate nodded. "So it would appear."

Castle returned to the couch, rested both elbows on his knees, dropped his head in between his hands and sighed. He rested his hands over his ears for several moments before looking over to her. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way but, now I'm kind of glad Tony is gone, so he doesn't have to know this."

Kate studied him curiously and he continued. "You should have seen how Tony talked about his father—he _worshiped_ him. The way Tony told the story, his father wasn't the sharpest guy, but he loved—_loved_—being a cop. He was a patrol cop for years, just working his beat, slowly trying to make his way up. He wanted to be a detective so badly. He studied and studied and failed the detective's exam twice before he passed. Then, suddenly, his dad was in his prime—doing what he was meant to do. That's why Tony wanted to be a cop, a detective. He wanted to be just like his father."

Castle sighed and rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin. "When we…when we discovered that his father's death didn't seem as accidental as the reports made it appear, Tony was crushed. Of course he'd been devastated by his father's death, but thinking of it as an accident—an uncontrollable yet unfortunate incident—gave him at least some level of closure. This just opened up all those old wounds and made him determined to find out what really happened but this," Castle picked up the page with Anthony Senior's financial records and tossed it aside with disgust, "would have killed him."

Kate reached over and placed a hand on Castle's forearm. She understood what he meant when he said he was glad Tony didn't have to find out about this. There were some things people were just better off not knowing. Then again, she wished she was as altruistic as to think that about her mother's death, had she been in the same position, but she was not. She knew that if her mother had been involved with nefarious activities that ultimately led to her death that she would want to know about it, even if it would break her heart.

Castle reached for the page he tossed away and studied it again. Looking to his couch companion he asked, "Can we trace the money?"

Kate took the page and glanced at the notation next to the deposit. She looked up at him and shook her head. "Cash deposit; sorry."

He groaned in frustration and stood off the couch once more. "But there are still so many unanswered questions! Where did he get the money from? Who gave it to him? The other cops he was involved with? The dealer? And who ordered the hit? The cops or the dealer? God, we're so close but…"

Kate stood and walked around the coffee table so she stood in front of him. "I know, Castle; I know. It's incredibly frustrating, but this is how cases go sometimes. Don't forget we learned some valuable information here—information that changed the whole axis of this story."

Castle nodded, but his brain was still spinning. "Can we talk to him? Big G? Can we interview him in prison—and by we, I mean you," he added with a gentle smile.

She mirrored his expression, but only for a moment. Truthfully, she had considered that, but that was not the next move she wanted to make. "I could, but I was thinking…let's assume for a second that Burgio is involved with the dirty cops. If you were facing prison time, wouldn't you use any bargaining chips you had? Like, for instance, turning in the dirty cops on your payroll in exchange for a reduced sentence?"

"Well sure, unless I was planning on doing business with them again after I was released from—oh, I see where you're going with this," he said at her knowing smile. "Which means you could question him all day long, but he'd never give up who the cops are."

She touched the tip of her nose and pointed to him, indicating he was correct. She walked back to the couch and sat down. When he joined her, she said, "You know, Castle, you're not half bad at this investigative stuff."

He smiled at her. "Thanks. It's actually been kinda fun." After a few moments he added, "So what's next?"

"Well, I think the only thing for us to do at this point is go back to those drug cases that Anthony Senior had record of and see if we can find a connection between them."

Castle's brow furrowed. "But hasn't the whole landscape of that changed now? I mean, isn't Anthony the connector?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. I think our initial assumption still stands: Anthony stumbled on these case files and figured out what was going on. If he figured it out so can we, which is why I requested precinct employment records this morning. Hopefully, we should have them in a day or so."

"A day or so!? That long?"

She smiled ruefully. "Sorry, Castle; this isn't _CSI_. We don't get test results like that either," she said, snapping her fingers. Before she could speak again, she was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. On the other end of the line, she was informed by Ling that she was needed immediately for a task force that was mobilizing to pick up Castle—in New Jersey. Though part of her wanted to say, "Do I have to? I know he's not there," she also knew keeping up appearances was much more important.

"Breaking news," she told him after she hung up. "You're hiding out at a motel in Jersey and we're going to go pick you up."

"Oh am I?" he replied with a laugh. "Well tell me I said hello."

"Will do. I'll be back later," she added before heading out the door.

Just after midnight, damp and exhausted to the bone, Kate staggered into her apartment. Despite not finding any evidence of Castle at the motel in New Jersey, Banner had insisted the team continue to search every square inch of the motel and surrounding area, even after it had begun to drizzle. The fact that Kate knew Castle was safe—and dry—in her own apartment the entire time only fueled her irritation.

As she walked through the kitchen, she caught a glimpse of him passed out on the couch, TV remote in the hand drooping towards the floor. Too tired to think about anything else, she made her way to her bedroom, shedding clothing as she went. When she reached her bed, she fell face forward into it, clawed at the sheets until she was sufficiently covered and fell almost immediately to sleep.

Unfortunately, she did not remain asleep for very long. At quarter to three, she awoke and shuffled her way to the bathroom. Back in bed, she lay awake staring at the ceiling, her mind racing. The irrational guilt she always seemed to feel when evidence led nowhere was beginning to creep in. Was she missing something? Was there an obvious piece of evidence she hadn't seen? What other rugs could she pull up to see if a clue lay beneath?

Forty minutes of staring at her ceiling later, Kate got out of bed to get a cup of tea in hopes that a few sips would put her back to sleep. She entered the kitchen, filled a cup of water and popped it in the microwave to heat, knowing that would be much faster than the stove.

"Couldn't sleep either?"

"Castle! God!" she jumped and clutched her chest when his voice startled her. Her next shock came when she realized she had not grabbed her robe upon getting out of bed, having momentarily forgotten about her houseguest. As a result, she stood in her kitchen in a camisole top and her panties. Fortunately, due to the darkness of the apartment, he probably could not see what she was wearing—at least not in great detail, but that would change if they got any closer.

As the water finished heating, she dashed to her bedroom, grabbed the robe off the back of the door and pulled it on before picking up her tea and walking with it towards the sofa. He sat with the sheets bunched around him, feet flat on the floor, one elbow on his knee and his cheek resting against his fist. She sat on the coffee table facing him. "Are you alright?"

He let out a bitter laugh. "Sure, I'm great. Except, you know, framed for a murder I didn't commit and, a week later, am barely closer to figuring out who did commit it. Even if all our assumptions are correct they're only that; we have no concrete evidence."

"We're getting there, Castle; we just need time."

"Time we don't have," he pointed out.

She tried to think of something reassuring to tell him, but before she could, he sat up straighter and looked at her intently. "Promise me something, Kate? If this goes on too long, or if it becomes too much you'll let me turn myself in before I completely ruin your life too. I swear, I wouldn't mention your name at all, I promise. You'd totally be in the clear."

Kate's heart broke at the tone of his voice; the way it revealed that he viewed himself as such a burden to her. It was, perhaps, the very first time since they'd met that his confidence in solving the case waivered. She wondered how long he'd been feeling that way; if he'd merely been putting on a front to keep his spirits up. Either way, it didn't matter; she would not let him sacrifice himself in that way.

Kate reached out her right hand and took his right hand in hers. "Rick, listen to me. We're going to solve this. Not right this minute, and maybe not even tomorrow, but we're going to solve this. Under no circumstances are you to turn yourself in so you can go to prison for two murders you didn't commit. If it goes on much longer, we'll just need to get creative. Like, I can start paying you to be my live in housekeeper-slash-cook."

With this comment, she finally succeeded in getting him to smile. "That may be a problem: I don't do bathrooms."

"Well, we can work something out." She smiled back. She gave his hand a squeeze and moved to stand, but he held fast and pulled her back down.

"Kate," he sighed out. All the hairs on the back of her neck stood out at his tone and she felt herself gulp involuntarily. Suddenly, she was transported back to earlier that day in the alley when she'd kissed him; he was looking at her the same way then as he was now. "Thank you."

"A-anytime." She slid her hand from his grasp, grabbed her mug of now lukewarm tea, and padded barefoot back to the bedroom. Once behind her closed bedroom door, she leaned back against it and sighed; somehow, she just knew there would not be very much more sleep coming to her that night.

The next morning, groggier than usual and with an irritating headache behind her eyes, Kate dragged herself from bed and made her way to the coffee pot. This was the day, she told herself; they would get a break—they simply had to.

Feeling overly optimistic, Kate checked her email as she waited for her coffee. Much to her joy, she found that she had been emailed the precinct employment records she requested. Unfortunately, she also had an email informing her of an earlier than usual briefing meeting at the field office.

Kate grumbled to herself, annoyed she would not have time to review the employment records before her briefing meeting, which could lead to god only knew what. Then, as she brushed her teeth, she remembered that she did not necessarily have to be the one reviewing the employment records. In this case, her partner in crime—or, rather, her partner accused of a crime—would be the perfect assistant.

Feeling guilty about waking him, she saved the files to her computer hard drive and left it and a note explaining the situation on the coffee table for him to find when he awoke. Then, without a second though, she left for the office so she would not be late for Banner's "ASAP! BE THERE OR ELSE!" meeting.

At the FBI, Kate quickly realized the only thing more exhausting than not sleeping was listening to Banner blame everyone possible for Castle's evasiveness—everyone but himself, of course. Though, oddly, he did not put as much blame on the faulty tipster as Kate felt he should have. By the end of the meeting she was assigned with reviewing traffic camera footage, a task which she knew would be made exponentially more difficult by her heavy eyelids.

Several boring hours later, just as she was contemplating getting something to eat in a desperate attempt to stay alert, Kate's traffic camera footage endeavor was interrupted by the chime of her cell phone. By the ring, she knew it was her Castle phone. She pulled it from her bag and gazed at the screen hidden below the edge of her desk.

_Come home ASAP!_ The text message read.

Without a second though, Kate dropped the phone back into her bag and hurried out the door.

* * *

_A/N: Only 3 more chapters after this one guys! But I guess this would be a good time to mention there will be a sequel :)_


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Please Note - this fic is now rated "M"_

* * *

**Fourteen**

When Castle awoke that morning, he noted that the sun was already shining brilliantly through the windows of Kate's apartment meaning that, more than likely, she had already left for work. Glancing at the clock he knew that to be true; it was just after nine.

After taking a trip to the bathroom, Castle went to the kitchen and waited for coffee to brew. Mug in hand, he returned to the couch and noticed for the first time the laptop sitting on the coffee table. When he walked around to the laptop's open side, he spotted the note Kate had left for him.

_Castle-_

_The precinct employment records are saved on the desktop. Pls review. Let me know if you find anything._

_Thx, Kate_

"Okay, Castle," he said, cracking the knuckles of both hands. "Let's see what kind of magic you can work today."

He began reviewing the PDF documents on the screen, but quickly realized that was an incredibly inconvenient way of studying them as it required far too much clicking back and forth. He really needed to print the records and lay them out in order to best process them. After looking around Kate's apartment for a few minutes, he found a printer, hooked it up to the laptop, and printed out the pages he needed, which actually ended up being many more than he realized. Now he understood why Kate had said this would not be the easiest task; each precinct had lengthy employment records.

Castle decided it would be best to lay the documents out in three rows: one for each precinct. In doing so, he would review each name on the list and highlight any names he found on more than one list. This task sounded simple enough, but it soon felt very daunting.

The lists displayed the last name, first name of each officer, plus their badge number and date of beginning and ending (if applicable) employment per precinct. As they were in alphabetical order by last name, Castle began with the A's and worked his way down. Halfway through the alphabet, he was beginning to lose hope, but finally, when he reached the P's, a named jumped out at him. "Samuel Petershim." He read from the first list, the fifteenth precinct. "Interesting," he commented to himself, wondering if Samuel had any relation to Al, the Petershim he had met while working with Tony.

Continuing down the lists, Castle did not find that name in the second group, but on the third group he found the name Allen Petershim. Allen Petershim was listed as a detective at the eighth precinct four years earlier—the same precinct as Anthony Senior at the exact time as Anthony's death. Castle highlighted both Petershim names over and over until the ink was practically bleeding through the paper. "Got you, you son of a bitch."

Castle immediately grabbed the burner phone and texted Kate to return to her apartment as soon as she could. As he waited, he continued through the remaining names on the list just for good measure, but there were no other names in common, only the Petershims.

By the time Kate arrived home, Castle's entire body was buzzing both from fury and the adrenaline of finally finding the lead they needed. When she walked through the door, he nearly pounced on her. "I got him! I got him! That little fucker has been under our nose the whole time!"

"What? Who? You got who?" Kate asked.

He grabbed her arm, pulling her into the dining room where his papers were displayed. Pointing at the highlighted sheet furthest from them he began his tale. "I was looking for names that overlapped in these precincts and I noticed Samuel Petershim's name from the fifteenth. I thought hmm, isn't that odd—Petershim doesn't seem like that common of a name. Then, from the eighth—the same precinct as Anthony Senior—Allen Petershim, which I'm willing to bet is the full name of Al Petershim, Tony's partner at the eleventh." Looking at Kate wide-eyed, Castle concluded, "This isn't a coincidence."

Kate shook her head slowly, the ramifications of their discovery washing over her. "No, I don't imagine it is."

"It's them—it has to be them. They must be brothers or cousins or something. Somehow, one or both of them are the grand masters of it all." Castle took a deep breath and began his story—the story his brain had formulated to explain it all. "The Petershims hatch the plan: take the evidence off drug dealers, sell it back to the dealers, pocket the cash and say, 'Oops, the evidence got lost. Oh well!' With no evidence, the dealer goes back out onto the street and everybody wins. They get their friends in on it, their partners. Evidence logs and reports get fudged and they're making tons of money to boot.

"Then along comes old Anthony who works at the same precinct as Al. Maybe he smelled something fishy—maybe he saw something—but he figures out what they're doing and he decides he wants in. Either because he doesn't want to share or because Anthony threatened to turn him in, Petershim has him killed. Years later, he takes young Tony under his wing—to watch him, discourage him from investigating his father's case. The case on which he penned the incident report, padded so that it would be swallowed as an accident.

"Somehow, through this watching, Petershim realizes that Tony and I have begun to work the case in spite of his discouragement. Maybe he was watching Pamela Mackey too, so he knew when she was contacted by Tony. Petershim realizes how close they are so he kills them both, planning the perfect double murder to clean up all the loose ends and use an innocent writer as a scapegoat. Bastard!"

Kate took a deep breath and looked at him. "That's a great story, Castle, but we can't prove any of it."

"There's got to be evidence somewhere—a trail of money coming into Petershim's accounts. He's got to be laundering it somehow," Castle insisted.

"Yes, I agree, but we can't just go at this guns blazing. Accusing a cop of something like this is a very serious offense, Castle; one we can't take lightly. We need to have facts lined up before this goes anywhere," she explained. "Unfortunately, all we have right now is circumstantial; we're not going to get a warrant for Petershim's financials with what we have."

"But it's him! Or them! It's got to be, right?" Castle asked.

She nodded. "It looks that way. Look, let me do some digging, okay. Just sit tight. I know—I know," she added at his impatient expression. "Just trust me Castle, okay? Stay here and wait for me to contact you. Can you do that?"

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, looking back to the pages with the Petershim names highlighted. "Just try to find something to nail this guy, okay?"

Kate smiled and patted his arm in a silent promise. Then, with renewed determination, she returned to the FBI field office.

After skimming a few more traffic cameras to give the appearance that she was working on her assignment, Kate opened an internet window to the Google homepage and typed Samuel Petershim's name into the search engine. As expansive as the FBI databases were, sometimes it was best to start simple, which was why she went directly to Google.

Scrolling through the results for just a few moments led her to an obituary stating that Samuel Petershim, retired NYPD police officer, had passed away of natural causes at the age of 62 just a few days after Thanksgiving the prior year. The article also listed he was survived by a younger brother, Allen. "Well, I guess that settles that," Kate said quietly to herself. With Samuel out of the picture, only one possible Petershim remained a suspect.

From her purse, Kate retrieved the burner phone and texted Castle. _S Petershim died last yr. Still looking into Al_. In response she received the eloquent: _son of a bitch!_

Sitting at her desk, traffic camera up on her screen to give the appearance of working, Kate thought about the situation. She had no facts that Al Petershim was involved. Everything they had was circumstantial. He was Tony's partner. He wrote the incident report on Anthony's accident. His brother was at one of the precincts experiencing mysteriously missing evidence—nothing that any judge in their right mind would grant a warrant for.

At that point, Kate saw her advantages as limited to only one: the element of surprised. She had never met Al Petershim. As far as he know, she had never even heard of him in any other capacity that he occasionally shared a squad car with the detective who had passed away one week earlier. He didn't know—nor would he suspect—she was aware of his backstory.

The move was risky and not always prosperous, but it was one she had used in the past to some degree of success. If she could approach Petershim as though she was just there to casually question him, it was possible she could catch him off guard, possibly resulting in him tipping his hand and revealing something she could use. Or, another possibility, would be to smoke him out—spook him in the hopes he would lead her to someone she could go after. Since it was the only move she could come up with, she knew she had to try.

Valuing the efficiency of time over hiding her movements, Kate borrowed a vehicle from the FBI motor pool and headed to the NYPD's eleventh precinct office where Petershim worked out of. After parking her sedan amongst the blue-and-whites on the street, Kate walked inside, flashed her badge and requested to speak with Detective Petershim.

The male officer manning the first floor desk apologized, stating that Petershim was not on duty that day. Kate flashed a smile, placed her forearm across the top edge of the counter by his desk and leaned her chest over it, causing the slightest bit of cleavage to show above the edge of her blouse. This was not a move she was proud of, but sometimes it became necessary.

With a flirtatious demeanor, she asked the young officer to provide her with Petershim's home address, stating that she was on important FBI business and speaking with Petershim was imperative to her assignment. Though the officer hedged for several moments, Kate eventually won him over and walked out of the Eleventh with the address on a yellow stickie note clasped in her left hand.

Back in her vehicle, Kate tapped the address into her phone's GPS system. The moment she saw the tiny dot appear on the Manhattan grid, all reservations she had about Petershim being their man went out the window. As a former NYPD Detective, she knew (give or take) what Petershim's salary was and, assuming he was not also a lottery winner, the area in which he lived was most assuredly out of his income range.

Twenty minutes later, Kate pulled her vehicle in front of Petershim's building and stepped out. She flashed her badge to the doorman and he ushered her inside with a smile. In the elevator, Kate pulled out her phone, started the recording ap, and then tucked it back into the breast pocket of her blazer. She double checked the stickie note in her pocket once more when she stepped off the elevator on the third floor. From there, she walked south down the hall to reach Petershim's apartment.

Kate knocked on the door, clasped her hands in front of her and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Just when she was about to knock again, the door opened and a balding man in his mid-fifties appeared. He was wearing a dark dress shirt, mostly unbuttoned displaying a white undershirt, dress pants, and loafers. "Can I help you?"

"Yes are you Detective Petershim?" Kate asked, plastering on a smile. The man bobbed his head. Kate pulled back the bottom corner of her jacket to reveal the badge hanging off her belt. "Agent Kate Beckett, FBI. I know it's your day off, sir, and I don't mean to bother you, but I just want to ask you a few questions about Detective Tony Ciardi. If you don't mind?" she added with as sweet a smile as she could muster.

Petershim nodded and ushered her inside. "Of course, anything for the FBI. But…I thought you guys were chasing that writer guy?"

Kate nodded, standing beside him in the entryway. "Yes, we are, but I'm just trying to get more of the backstory in case that helps us locate Mr. Castle. As you may have heard, he's been a bit elusive to us."

Petershim deep laugh came out as a hybrid laugh-cough, as though he'd been a heavy smoker for many years. "Yeah I've heard as much."

Deciding to get right down to business, Kate began, "I've been told Mr. Castle was originally supposed to shadow you on the job, isn't that correct?"

Petershim nodded and took two steps towards the sitting room area of the apartment; Kate followed. "Yeah, my CO set that up. Look, I didn't mind helping the guy out, you know? But he became a bit more of a nuisance than I originally imagined. I just couldn't let him interrupt investigations. I'm sure you can understand that."

Kate suppressed a chuckle. From what she knew about Castle and his astounding lack of ability to follow simple instructions over his own whims, she could only imagine how irritating he would be as a shadow, no matter how helpful his insights were at times. "Oh believe me, I do."

"Please why don't you have a seat?" Petershim said, gesturing towards the seating area against the opposite wall complete with a leather couch and two matching chairs in a deep cranberry tone. "What did you say your name was again? Beckett? You didn't use to be a cop, did you?"

"Yes, actually I-" Kate stopped short when she reached the couch, turned and saw Petershim standing holding a weapon on her. On instinct, her right hand shot to her hip holster, grasped the grip on her weapon and began to unsheathe it, but she was just a moment too slow. Before the muzzle of the gun was pointed at Petershim, he had pulled the trigger.

Fortunately, his weapon was a stun gun and the spines of the cartridge struck her blazer before going into her flesh, slightly reducing the voltage she received. The charge still sent her directly to the floor. She attempted to grab on to the couch, but instead rolled beside it, losing her service weapon in the process.

The electricity coursing through her felt like it lasted forever, causing every cell in her body to vibrate uncontrollably. In reality, she knew the attack was only a few seconds long. After it was over her, Petershim approached and stared down at her with a wicked expression. "Oh I know all about you, Ms. Beckett and your new best friend, Mr. Castle."

Kate went to gasp, but found her mouth was not yet under her control. Instead, the noise came out as mostly a moan mixed with a heavy exhale.

Petershim crouched down by her knees and gazed down at her as though one would look upon a wounded animal. "Yes, we've been watching you all this time. I've been waiting—waiting for you to fuck up and hang yourselves. All I wanted to do was put away that nosy writer, but if I ended up getting the former best homicide detective in the NYPD in the process that would only sweeten the deal. Tell me, Ms. Beckett, how is it that you were such a good investigator and you didn't see this coming?"

Fury aiding in the recovery of her senses, Kate honed all her energy into pushing herself off the floor. She knew she would never be able to stand fully upright, but that was okay since Petershim was crouching. All she had to do was move forward into him enough to disrupt his balance and buy herself a few seconds.

She planted her hands beneath her and used every ounce of strength she had to push herself forward and into Petershim. Unfortunately, he saw the attack coming and was able to brush her off as though she were a piece of lint. She flew forward into one arm of the couch. With her arms outstretched, she knocked a lamp from the table next to it and landed with her chin crashing down into the cushy couch arm.

Her teeth rattling from their sharp impact, Kate scrambled on the floor and towards her gun, but Petershim anticipated her movement. He grabbed a fistful of her hair at the back of her head and slammed her down hard into the floor. She was just able to turn her head fast enough so she struck the ground with her eyebrow and cheek bone rather than her nose taking the full brunt of the blow.

As Petershim stepped over her, Kate attempted to push herself up into plank position, get her feet underneath her and then slowly stand. She managed half this task before the back of Petershim's hand came crashing into her jaw. In her weakened state, this was enough to send her to the floor, where she landed with a moan, the taste of blood filling her mouth.

"Maybe you did know," Petershim continued as he casually kicked her gun away. It skidded on the hardwood and landed a few feet from the entry way. "Yes, maybe you did and maybe you thought you could take me in yourself. How…adorable." He cocked his head to the side and gazed down at her. For a moment, his expression was bemused. Then, as he reached for the fallen lamp, she could see the poison slowly seeping in.

"Why?" Kate choked out. She rolled onto her back, an act that, in her battered state, felt akin to running a marathon. "Why did you kill Anthony?"

Lamp in hand, Petershim turned back to her. "Which Anthony? Well, I guess it doesn't matter. I may as well tell you." Petershim yanked the lamp power cord from the wall and began to wind the plug end around his left fist. He stepped over her, his feet even with her belly button. She held her arms out straight in front of her as an attempt to fight him off, but he smacked her arms down and knelt on her biceps. Despite all the clawing she did at his ankles, she was hopelessly pinned.

"Old Anthony thought he was so fucking smart—trying to blackmail me, my brother, my partners into more money. He was a fucking idiot—a moron," Petershim spat. He pressed the lamp cord sharply underneath Kate's jaw and she coughed, unable to do a thing to stop him.

"He didn't know shit about detective work. He—and I believe even you would agree with this Ms. Beckett—was a pathetic excuse for a detective. I did the world a favor by creating that accident. It was so perfectly executed…" He turned his eyes to the ceiling and chuckled, clearly proud of the work he'd done.

"Pamela calling in that faulty child abduction tip. Anthony racing in to save the day and WHAM." With the force of the word, Petershim pressed the lamp cord tighter against Kate's throat and she could feel the restriction beginning in her windpipe. "The fucker becomes a bug on the windshield of giant truck. Such a perfect accident…until young Anthony and that goddamned writer stuck his nose into it."

As her flow of oxygen decreased, Kate made a desperate attempt to kick her feet up and give herself a way to escape, but this action did nothing. Petershim was pinning her torso down to the ground too tightly.

"Don't get me wrong," he continued, "Anthony wasn't a bad kid—in a few years he might have actually been a decent detective, but he was too goddamned nosy for his own good. I tried to tell him to leave it alone, but he wouldn't listen, not with that writer nipping at his heels whispering conspiracy theories in his ear. I thought I could get away with just him but then Pamela grew a conscience and…well, you know the rest." Petershim's grin changed from one of pure evil to one of entertainment.

"A little Chloroform, a few injections of untraceable this and that and that writer had absolutely no idea what happened after he left his apartment that night." He coiled the power cord tighter around her neck as he spoke. She choked, his eyelids flared wider and he pulled the cord just a millimeter tighter. "It just a shame you won't be able to tell anyone."

"I wouldn't count on that."

Petershim's gaze shot up to see Castle standing a few feet away, gun pointed directly at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Castle squeezed the trigger, shooting a bullet directly into Petershim's left shoulder.

Howling out a curse, Petershim's grip on the lamp cord immediately slackened. Grabbing his bleeding left arm, he staggered to a stand and took one step towards Castle. "Don't move or I'll shoot you again," Castle warned, but Petershim clearly did not believe him, because he laughed and took another step in Castle's direction. Making good on his threat, Castle lowered his gauntlet of the weapon and squeezed off one more round. That time, it landed in Petershim's right upper thigh.

With Petershim on the ground and momentarily incapacitated, Castle hurried around the seating area to check on Kate, but it appeared her rate of recovery was quicker than he anticipated, because by the time he reached her side, she was already on her knees, flipping Petershim onto his back and cuffing him. He whimpered out in agony when she wrenched his right arm behind him and she Mirandized him, though her voice was as gravely as he'd ever heard it.

"Are you okay?" Castled asked Kate when she'd finished her Miranda speech.

As though she'd just noticed him in the room, Kate shot to her feet, practically jumped the two foot distance between them, and locked her arms around his neck. Castle reciprocated the hug with one arm while the other loosely held the gun on Petershim. "What are you doing here?" Kate asked breathily into his ear.

"I thought you might be doing something stupid and I didn't want to miss out," he told her with a laugh. She pulled back and stared at him with utmost amazement. Castle brought his free hand up and touched the bleeding spot on her eyebrow gingerly. "Are you sure you're okay—Hey!" He turned his gaze towards Petershim, who appeared to be attempting to clamber to his feet. "Move and die motherfucker!"

"Castle!" Kate scolded, reaching out for her service weapon she slid it from his grip.

Castle looked at her wide-eyed. "He framed me for murder!" Kate held his gaze for a moment, her expression warning, but then she shrugged and turned back to Petershim, knowing that Castle had more than a little right to be completely livid.

"You didn't by any chance record his confession did you?" Castle asked cautiously.

Smiling at him with a sideways gaze, Kate dipped her free hand into her suit jacket, pulled out her iPhone and stopped recording. "What am I? A rookie?"

Castle face looked like it was going to explode right off his skull. While punching both fists in the air, he did a little leap of joy. "I love you so much right now!" he said to her. She laughed and leaned into him, nudging his arm with her shoulder. He turned to face her, touched her cheek with the backs of his knuckles and held her gaze for a moment. Just before she was about to lean her face towards his, their moment was interrupted by a thundering sound at the front door.

Kate gauntleted her weapon and turned it towards the entry way only to see a phalanx of FBI agents piling in, announcing themselves. Kate held her weapon out to the side in a non-aggressive stance and pulled back her suit jacket revealing her badge. "It's okay, I'm FBI," she announced before making a show of dropping her weapon onto a neighboring chair.

As the agents trained their guns on her, Castle, and Petershim, Agent Banner pushed his way to the front of the pack. "FBI! This is—Beckett!" he shrieked out when he saw her. "What in the goddamn hell are—Castle! Arrest him! Arrest that man!" Banner nearly jumped up and down as he pointed in Castle's direction.

Kate immediately stepped in front of him, holding her hands out. "No don't! He's innocent and we can prove it."

"We!?" Banner asked incredulously. "No, _we_ got an anonymous tip that Mr. Castle was in this area and he will not get away—not this time!"

Kate swept her hand towards the groaning and bleeding man on the floor. "The man you need to arrest is Detective Petershim. He's responsible for the deaths of both Detectives Ciardi and Pamela Mackey."

As two FBI agents pulled Petershim to his feet, Banner took a step forward, narrowing his eyes at Kate. "Beckett, if you have been aiding in this fugitive's elusive tactics I'll have your badge."

"No, you won't," Kate told him firmly. "Not after I show you all the evidence we've uncovered."

"I can't wait," Banner said with notable sarcasm. Kate turned towards the apartment exit, gesturing for Castle to follow her when Banner stopped them again. "I cannot let him walk out of here unless he's in handcuffs."

Kate glanced between a smirking Castle and Banner. "Don't worry, sir; I'll keep him in check."


	15. Chapter 15

**Fifteen**

Shortly after ten p.m. that evening, Kate returned to her apartment after what she was certain was the longest debrief ever in the history of the FBI. Since she had spent the vast majority of the prior hours talking and explaining her actions over and over again, she felt more drained than she ever had before. In fact, to be only "exhausted" was something she aspired to.

Kicking off her shoes as she went, Kate walked to her bedroom, stripped off her clothes and pulled on her pajamas. She then walked back to the kitchen and pulled her emergency stash of Oreos from the cabinet above her dishwasher. She knew she should have been eating something healthier yet equally as quick like a piece of fruit or a PB&J, but it was an Oreo kind of moment.

Five and a half hours earlier, Kate, Castle and the rest of the FBI team returned to the field headquarters, where Banner immediately tried to separate them. Kate refused until he agreed to listen to her iPhone recording of Petershim's confession. With that damning evidence, Banner had no basis of argument for charging Castle with murder; however, as he pointed out, Castle could still be charged with escaping police custody, kidnapping a federal agent and about a dozen other equally serious offenses.

As she watched Castle grow paler, Kate demanded to talk to Banner's superior: the director of the New York field office, a man named Bernard Henderson. She knew that request would not win her any points with Banner, but she didn't care about that. All she cared about was allowing Castle to walk out of the FBI headquarters as a free man.

Kate explained their situation to Director Henderson, detailing the elaborate cover-up efforts in both Castle's case and in the murder of Anthony Senior four years before. After she played her iPhone recording for him, the Director was understandably stunned, and trapped in a difficult position.

True, Castle had broken several laws, all of which he could be charged for, but the case was also a very public one, ironically mostly due to the fault of the FBI. Announcing they had arrested a different man for the crimes would already result in bad enough publicity for them; they surely did not need to add to it by vilifying the writer any more. In the end, the Director decided to release Castle, but he was instructed not to leave the city in case they needed to question him more.

Kate was able to watch the reunion of Castle with his family just as she was being pulled into the Director's office to begin her own debrief. Watching Castle's daughter leap into his arms, tears in her eyes, was more than enough victory for Kate. She knew the joy it gave her would carry her through her own grueling discussion.

As she waited for her debrief to begin, Kate briefly toyed with the idea of covering up some of her involvement in Castle's case. She knew, if pressed, Castle would back any version of the story she told wholehearted, but in the end she decided against it. She knew if she had to do it all again, she would do it just the same; there was no question in her mind.

Sitting in the director's office with a red-faced Banner in the chair beside her, Kate detailed every moment of the case beginning with her very first Castle encounter six days prior. She told them about her run-in with him at the scrap yard in Queens, how he'd given her a safe ride home, and they'd talked through some of the points of the case that didn't make sense. She told them of her admittedly foolish decision to allow Castle to kidnap her and escape. She even told them about his hideaway in her father's rural cabin and subsequently in her own Manhattan apartment.

When the director asked her why she did not go to Banner with her suspicions, she answered truthfully. She had attempted to approach Banner about the case, but she had been shut down because Banner believed all the evidence to be pointing guilt unequivocally in Castle's direction. When he was asked to respond, Banner's only defense was that everyone else believed Castle to be guilty as well.

Again and again Kate told her story, but she knew it remained consistent because everything she told was the truth. In the end, she was told to turn over all the evidence she collected, so it could be reviewed for accuracy by other agents, at which point she would face a disciplinary hearing for her actions. Until that point, she would be placed on administrative leave.

Standing in her kitchen after downing almost an entire row of Oreos, Kate could not bring herself to regret any of her actions. In the end, she'd accomplished what she'd set out to do. Castle was a free man; he had been exonerated.

As the administrative leave was standard operating procedure after an officer involved shooting, it did not upset Kate. The potential disciplinary hearing, however, did cause her slight concern. At the very least she expected to be bumped down to desk duty for a period of time. At worst, she would be striped of her badge and charged with several felonies, though given the fact that the director chose not to prosecute Castle, the felony charges seemed an unlikely route.

Deciding she'd had more than enough processed sugar for one evening, Kate put the Oreos away and headed to the bathroom. She washed off her makeup, brushed her teeth, and had just exited bathroom bound for bed when she heard a knock at her front door.

Her skin prickling with uncertainty, Kate padded quietly to the door and peered out the peep hole. She almost laughed upon sight of her visitor. Somehow, it didn't surprise her in the least.

On her trip home from the FBI that evening, she'd thought about Castle and how he was most likely celebrating with his mother and daughter at that very moment. The mental image brought a smile to her face, and it also made her wonder when—and if—she would see him again.

Most times, after a case was closed, Kate did not see any of the players again unless the case went to trail and she needed to be a witness; there simply was no need. True, there was an occasional incidence where a victim's family contacted her later on in an attempt to gain closure, or ask more questions about the situation surrounding their loved one's death. Kate always did her best to help in those situations, but also did so at arm's length, knowing it was best not to be personally involved in any of her cases.

To say that she had been personally involved with Castle's case would have been a grand understatement. His case and her life had woven themselves together so much that the two could not be separated. Due to that, she fully expected to see him again. In fact, she would have been greatly disappointed if she had not seen him again. What would come from their first post-case meeting, she wasn't sure, but it appeared she was about to find out.

Kate unlatched the door and pulled it open to reveal her former houseguest. For the first time since she'd officially met him, he resembled the headshot on the back of his book covers: clean shaven, well groomed hair, crisply pressed shirt and blazer, and a bright expression. "Hi."

"Hi," she echoed.

"I know it's late. I'm sorry I just…"

"Come in, please," she said, shaking off his apology and stepping aside to allow more space in the doorway. He stepped in and she shut the door behind him. She folded her arms across her chest and took two steps so that she stood in the entryway of her kitchen. "I, uh, thought you'd be spending the first night of your freedom at home in your bed."

"Actually," he countered, taking a step towards her. "I thought I'd spend it in yours."

Kate felt her skin begin to prickle as she bit the inside corner of her lip. She turned her gaze momentarily towards her feet and then looked back to him, finding desire burning in his gaze. "Is that a line you use with all the girls?"

"No." He took a step closer. "It's a new one I'm trying out. What do you think?"

"Not bad," she said just as his hands reached her hips. He pulled them flush against his own and she let out an involuntary gasp. "I, ah, I suppose it might work with some women."

Castle lowered his head so that his nose bumped up against hers. "Is that so?"

She bought her left hand up to skim across the base of his neck and comb through the ends of his hair. She tiled her head ever so slightly to the right so that her nose brushed his cheek, their lips millimeters apart but still not touching. "Yeah but I-"

Kate could not finish her thought as his lips stole the words. His mouth crushed against hers as his fingertips dug into her hips, drawing her close enough that their entire torsos aligned. He kissed her like he'd wanted to for days, like he'd wanted to since he first felt her lips in the alleyway behind Bonnie's salon the previous afternoon.

When he pulled back, her name escaped his lips in the form of a moan. "Kate."

She let out a breathy laugh against his lips and opened her eyes. "Yeah, Rick?"

His only response was to take her two steps backwards, push her back up against the kitchen counter and moan as their lips dueled once again. Kate moved her hands down his neck, across his throat and to the upper edges of his blazer. She skimmed her fingertips underneath, ran them over the tops of his shoulders and assisted in ridding him of the item.

Achieving a horizontal position now paramount, Castle wrapped one strong arm around her back and guided her towards the bedroom. She walked backwards on her tip-toes, her lips never leaving his, her fingertips working dutifully on the buttons of his shirt. Only when they reached her bedroom did their lips separate and they share a heavy-lidded stare.

Using his hand at the base of her neck, Castle skimmed his thumb across the front of her throat, tracing the groove left by the lamp cord from earlier that day. The red line had almost completely faded, but he could still see it mostly because he knew it had been there. He ran his thumb back and forth over the spot hoping that doing so would erase both the mark and the memory.

Still gazing into her eyes, Castle slid his hands down her torso, grabbed the hem of her tank top and swiftly pulled it up and over her head. Though it surprised him when her breasts bounced free, he said nothing. When, however, he pushed her cotton shorts off her hips revealing no panties beneath, he did let out a tiny moan of, "Jesus."

Her lips curling into a smile, Kate finished unbuttoning Castle's shirt and, as he removed that and his undershirt, she turned her attention to the button and zipper on his pants. Once he was stripped down to only his boxers, Castle pushed Kate lightly down onto the bed and kneeled on it as she scooted her way into a prone position.

With his lips starting at her jawline, Castle kissed his way down Kate's collar bone, across each of her breasts, over her concave stomach, her protruding hip bones and finally to the juncture of her legs. When his lips touched her most sensitive spot, Kate arched her back and rolled her hips against his face as illicit sounds escaped her lips.

Alternating flicks of his tongue with the suction of his lips and incorporating two fingers inside her, Castle was easily able to bring Kate to a rapid orgasm. She cried out and balled her fists against the mattress as her body trembled down from its high. Reversing his earlier process, Castle kissed his way up her torso while skillfully pulling off his boxers with just one hand.

When he stretched out on top of her, Kate traced her fingertips gently over his cheek. With a sated smiled she said, "Well, that's one way to celebrate freedom."

"Actually, that was to thank you for risking your job," he moved his hips flush against hers, "your career," he pressed himself against her and watched as her mouth formed an o-shape in anticipation, "and your life to exonerate me."

In one smooth motion, he pushed himself inside her and she clawed her fingertips into his shoulders with a curse. "I was just—ah, fuck—doing my job, Castle."

He smiled and dropped a kiss onto her lips as he dug his knees into the bed, pulling himself three quarters of the way out of her channel. "Were you?"

"Yes, I—ah!" she gasped when he thrust into her again. She raised her head and kissed him roughly before commanding, "Stop talking, Castle."

More than happy to accommodate her request, Castle instead used his lips to peppers hers with kisses as their hips found and even rhythm. As he felt her grasp on his shoulders grow tighter, he knew she was close once more and he sped his pace just enough for them to crest the next wave together.

Still panting, Castle rolled onto his side and settled back against one of the bed pillows. Kate threw the sheet over them both and snuggled her head against his shoulder. Within moments they had both fallen into a deep, restful slumber.

* * *

When Castle awoke next, he had been having the strangest dream. He was running down Broadway, the FBI in pursuit when he suddenly found himself on a rowboat that was tipping back and forth. When he opened his eyes he realized that the moving boat was actually the moving bed, rocking because Kate was climbing out. He glanced at the bedside clock and realized she must have been getting up to go to work.

Finding himself unmotivated to move, Castle continued to lie in the same position until he heard her shut off the shower water, at which point he got up and began to rummage through their discarded clothing from the night before. He pulled on his boxers and t-shirt before padding barefoot into her kitchen and making himself a cup of coffee.

Standing against the kitchen counter sipping the brown liquid, Castle reflected on his night of passion with the lovely FBI agent with a smile. Truth be told, when he first met her one week prior he had not imagined at any point spending a night in her bed. Though, to be fair, a week prior, his main concern had been proving his innocence so that he would once again be able to sleep in his own bed and not on a jail cell cot.

Then, as the week progressed, he watched her. He saw her intelligence come through, her strength and her guile. His appreciation for her as an ally turned to more—much, much more—as they faced his toughest moments together. Standing there in her kitchen he was uncertain for what exactly the future would hold for them, but he knew it would be bright.

"Good morning," he greeted her when she exited the bathroom fully dressed in her business attire.

A smile broke across her face. "Morning."

"Sleep well?"

A slight blush crept into her cheeks when she responded, "Yes, very. I still can't believe you're here—not that I'm complaining, but isn't your family angry with you?"

"I ate dinner with them," he defended. "Then, Alexis went to bed—it's a school night—and I came here. The best of both worlds."

She nodded and then turned to her freezer and pulled out the English muffins.

"So," Castle began, leaning against the kitchen counter. "What happened yesterday? Was the director able to get that Banner guy to back down? He, by the way, seems like a dick."

"Banner is a dick," she assured him. "And…kind of. I'm technically on administrative leave right now, but I have to turn in all our evidence so it can go to the review committee before my disciplinary hearing."

At her words, Castle's expression notably paled, but she reassured him with a pat on the shoulder. "It's okay, Castle; don't worry about it. It's all standard FBI procedure."

He accepted her answer with a relieved expression. Then he asked. "So…what's next?"

She shrugged. "I hang out at home for the rest of the week and wait to be called to the committee."

"No, no—for us. I mean, what's next for us?"

Kate pulled her English muffin from the toaster and dropped it onto a plate. As she slathered it in peanut butter she said, "What do you mean? We just go back to our lives—you write another book, I go to being a law abiding FBI agent…" She let her voice trail off as she turned to him, taking a bite of her breakfast.

His brow wrinkled and he set down his coffee cup. "What do you mean…like, separately?" She shrugged. Castle faltered momentarily. He thought their status would be implied, but if he needed to make it plain, he would. Taking a step towards her he said, "I was actually hoping we could maybe see each other in a non-fugitive-and-investigator capacity."

With a difficult to discern expression, she asked, "You really think that's a good idea?"

Wounded, he replied, "You don't?"

She tossed her half eaten muffin back onto its plate and brushed her hands together. "Well, we're from two different words. You're a celebrity; I'm a cop…"

"So? You're just talking about occupations and who cares about that? We both live in Manhattan. We're both outrageously attractive. We work well together. Why wouldn't we work? Not to mention," he deepened his tone and reached out to grab her hip, "everything that happened last night was pretty damn amazing."

She blushed and lowered her chin, but did not disagree.

"C'mon," he encouraged with a squeeze of her hip. "Unless there's another reason. Someone else…?"

Kate couldn't help but laugh at that suggestion. How could she have forgotten her boyfriend with the initials J.O.B.? "No," she said, looking up to him, "there's no one else."

His expression brightened. "Okay then. Let's give it a shot."

"Castle-"

"I can see you need convincing, but I'm up for that." He crashed his lips into hers pulling her into a searing kiss for several moments. When he pulled back she looked stunned, but still did not speak. "More convincing?" he offered with a sly grin. That time, as he pressed their lips together he moved his hands down to cup her ass and pull her towards him. She responded by looping her arms around his neck, parting her lips and allowing their tongues a several second duel.

"Wait, ah," she pushed herself away from him, "I need to go to work."

He held her hips fast. "Not until you give me a response."

Chewing her bottom lip she shut her eyes and lowered her head. Why, she asked herself, was she determined to end their relationship at one night of passion? The sex was…well, she certainly wouldn't turn down a second time with him if that's what it came down to, but it was more than that. Her gut—the one smarter than her brain would ever be—told her that this relationship, if she were to embark on it, would be something much greater than she'd ever been involved in before, and that thought terrified her.

In relationships, Kate preferred to take things easily. Dip her toe in the water, test the temperature, maybe wade in a few feet and then go back to the shore. With Castle, she had done a cannonball into the deep end and now, it seemed, instead of allowing her to swim to the ladder, he merely wanted to throw her a raft and join her in the water. She wasn't sure she was prepared for that kind of relationship but, when faced with the alternative of walking out the door and never seeing him again, her choice was obvious.

Meeting his gaze once more, she bobbed her head once.

"Excellent!" He proclaimed, pressing a quick kiss onto her lips. "You can come to my house for dinner tonight to celebrate."

Her eyes widened. "Oh that's not really-"

"I insist! Besides, my mother and Alexis want to thank you personally for everything you've done."

"Well I—okay," she caved at his endlessly hopeful expression. "But I really need to go or I'll be la-"

"Wait!"

"Castle!" she practically growled at him.

"No, I'm serious," he said, though his expression was notably apologetic. "I just realized I don't have your real phone number." He walked over to his suit jacket, which was still on the floor from the night before, and pulled his iPhone from the breast pocket. After unlocking it, he passed it to Kate and she tapped in her number before passing it back. "Thanks! I'll text you the time."

"Okay, just," she took a few steps towards the exit and furrowed her brow, "don't go to too much trouble, okay?"

"No trouble at all," he promised. Then, with another hesitant look, she grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

* * *

_A/N: The final chapter will be posted Saturday morning! As always, thank you so much for your reviews. I really appreciate them; you guys are great! _


	16. Chapter 16

**Sixteen**

Kate's Wednesday was, at best, filled with a mixture of highs and lows. Upon arriving at the FBI field office, she was faced with the humiliation of having to wait in the lobby until Banner retrieved her as in compliance with her suspension she had been relieved of her badge and gun the night before. His obnoxious smirk felt like sandpaper on her spine as he walked her back to the main office, where she handed over her evidential notes and was forced to explain her whole story once more to a different senior officer.

By mid-morning she was not only exhausted but extremely annoyed with whole situation and ready to all too happily serve out her suspension on her couch in her sweat pants watching _The Price is Right_. Before she could leave, though, Banner approached and informed her that at the request of the director, she was to accompany him on his trip to visit Mrs. Ciardi, Tony's mother and Anthony's widow. Kate drew small pleasure from the fact that Banner seemed physically pained by the invite and agreed to go with him.

For Kate, visiting the family members of the deceased was always the most difficult part of her job. With each visit, she flashed back to the night she sat in her parent's apartment, tears streaming down her face, as an NYPD apologetically informed her of her mother's murder. She would never shake that gut-clenching memory for as long as she lived.

Given that Mrs. Ciardi was already aware of her son's and husband's passing, this visit would not be nearly as heartbreaking. Still, it was never easy to have those conversations, particularly not when all parties involved would come off in a good light. Seeing as Mrs. Ciardi had requested to speak with her specifically, Kate hoped she would be able to leave out just enough detail to leave the memory of her husband intact.

When Kate arrived at Mrs. Ciardi's Brooklyn apartment, the woman greeted her with a handshake and obviously forced smile. Kate joined her in the sitting room, but refused a cup of coffee when offered. Wringing her hands together, Mrs. Ciardi sat opposite Kate before speaking. "I just needed to thank you for finding my son's killer—my husband's killer too, I suppose."

As Mrs. Ciardi swallowed hard and clutched her chest, Kate could tell she was having difficulty processing the second half of her statement. "You're welcome, Mrs. Ciardi, but it wasn't just me. Your son and Richard Castle did a great deal of digging and figured quite a lot out on their own; I just helped put some of the pieces together."

Mrs. Ciardi nodded. "He was a good boy—Tony. Took his father's death hard. We all did, but Tony took it the worst. I just wish…I just wish he could have seen his father's killer brought to justice."

Kate leaned over and placed her hand atop the woman's clenched fists. "The most important thing to remember is that we did find his killer and that man won't be able to hurt anyone else."

A few tears dripped onto her cheeks as the elder woman shook her head. "A cop—he was a cop. How could a cop do this?"

Kate shook her head slowly and answered as honestly as she could. "I have no idea."

* * *

After returning to the FBI main room with Banner, who refused to look or speak to her as they drove, Kate went to her apartment to decompress after her morning. She made herself lunch and, as she was eating, received a text from an unknown number.

_6:30 tonight, Beautiful. You know the address._

Realizing it was from Castle, she programmed the number into her phone's address book and stared at the message for several minutes. Dinner with Castle and his family. That certainly wasn't something she could have foreseen in her life a week earlier.

In truth, she remained torn about their budding relationship. On one hand she felt excitement. She remembered fondly the touch of his skin, his lips against hers, their sweaty bodies pressed together from the night before. Her attraction to him on that level was undeniable, but the speed at which their relationship progressed unnerved her.

In her experience, relationships that began with a high degree of passion tended to fade just as quickly as they began. In such cases, she knew to keep her heart locked up in its lead box, because unleashing it would only lead to heartbreak. She'd keep those lovers at arm's length until their relationship reached its natural end.

Somehow—and she could not explain how—everything with Castle felt different. Their connection was undeniable and her trust in him unexplainable. True, they had been through tougher situations than most, which fueled their bond, but it was more than that. She felt it deeper, almost on a molecular level—a draw she'd never felt before and one her rational brain could not explain.

Though feelings of uncertainty caused her tentative heart to encourage her feet to run, she tried her best to stay firmly planted. Castle was different and exciting, yet kind and caring. She felt as though their experiences together hadn't been the real him due to the cloud of felonies hanging above them. Due to that, she owed it to them both to get to know him in a normal setting. Until that point, she would reserve her judgment about the future of their relationship.

With a few minutes to breathe freely, Kate realized that she had not informed her father of the resolution of their situation. Feeling slightly guilty about leaving him to wonder what had happened, she glanced at the clock and figured she just might catch him before his afternoon classes. She pressed his speed dial shortcut on her phone and waited impatiently with each ring before he picked up and she said, "Hi Dad."

He was silent for a moment. "You're not calling me from prison, are you?"

She let out a breathy exhale. "Ah, no. No I'm not in prison, and thankfully neither is Castle."

She detailed for him the highlights of the prior forty-eight hours, ending with the arrest of Al Petershim for both murders. Noticeably absent from her tale was the battle in Petershim's apartment before the arrest and, naturally, everything that happened with Castle once he was a free man. She did, however, inform him she was having dinner with the Castle family that night to celebrate.

Kate's father absorbed the story with little interruption. When the tale was done, he said, "I'm very proud of you, Katie. You know that, right?"

She smiled softly and pressed the phone a bit tighter to her ear. "Yeah, I know."

"I'm glad everything worked out for Mr. Castle. Perhaps I might get a chance to tell him that in person one day?"

She grumbled inwardly. Per usual, she was never able to hide anything from her father and he had obviously picked up on the deeper relationship between them that she was attempting to conceal. "Yes, um, that might be able to be arranged."

She heard him chuckle before saying. "Goodbye Katie; have a nice dinner."

"Bye Dad," she echoed before ending the call, setting the phone down on her kitchen counter and staring at it, thoughts of that evening's impending meal filling her mind.

* * *

Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a cardigan sweater over top, Kate arrived at Castle's apartment promptly at six-thirty. When she knocked on the door, it opened not a minute later and she was immediately engulfed in a blur of crimson hair. She felt arms crush around her as tightly as the tiny body belonging to them could manage. In her ear, there was a mantra of, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"You're, uh, welcome…Alexis," Kate said, patting the girl's sides, as it was the only part of her she could reach with her arms pinned down by the hug.

When Alexis released Kate, she grabbed her by the hand and dragged her into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind her. "Dad! Gran! Kate's here!"

"Agent Beckett," her father corrected from the kitchen.

"No, no—Kate's fine," she insisted with a slight blush.

Wiping his hands on a towel, Castle approached and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. "How was your day?"

"Ah, okay," she said, not really sure how else to appropriately explain in under ten minutes. "How was yours?"

He sighed and opened his arms in a melodramatic way. "Ah, sweet, sweet freedom." She laughed lightly. "Actually," he continued, "I spent most of the day fielding calls of the "oh my god, we're so glad you're not a murderer—we knew you didn't do it!" variety. I'm pretty sure at least sixty percent of them were total bullshit; I know those bastards had no faith in me."

"Richard, this is supposed to be a celebration," his mother cautioned as she walked in to the room. He apologized and then returned to the kitchen while Martha pulled Kate into a hug. "My darling girl, how can I even begin to thank you?"

"Oh, not thank yous necessary, Martha; I was only doing my job," Kate assured her. After giving her a slightly dubious expression, Martha gestured for Kate to take a seat at the pre-set table. She sat next to Alexis, who continued to grin at her. Martha helped her son transfer serving dishes full of food to the table, and then they sat with her across from Alexis and Castle across from Kate.

"I'd like to begin with a toast," Castle said, raising his wine glass. The other three mirrored his gesture, with the exception of Alexis, whose glass held water. "To Kate Beckett for going to extraordinary lengths to help me prove my innocence, for which I am eternally grateful."

"To Kate Beckett," Martha and Alexis repeated before clinking glasses with the rest of the group.

Thoroughly embarrassed, Kate took a healthy sip of her wine and then returned the glass to the table. "Thank you, but again, I was just doing my job."

"So Kate, tell us, what was it that made you believe Richard was innocent," Martha asked as they began to eat.

"Hey!"

"Well, be serious, Darling," Martha said to her protesting son. "The evidence was stacked against you."

"Well despite the fact that he had me tied to a chair, I knew he was innocent the moment I talked to him; the evidence merely confirmed my instincts."

Castle grimaced remembering his behavior from their first encounter. "Oh yeah, sorry about that whole zip tie thing."

Kate flashed him a smile. "It's okay; I believe you've more than made up for it."

Castle mirrored her expression and deepened his tone. "Yes, I suppose that's very, very true."

"Ew, Dad!" Alexis whined. "I'm trying to eat."

Feeling her cheeks heat to approximately the temperature of the surface of the sun, Kate cleared her throat. "I was, ah, actually referring to when he saved me from being shot."

Alexis nodded with relief and turned back to her plate. With the younger girl looking away, Kate caught Castle's eye and they smiled secretively, both of them knowing that was not what she had been referring to.

"What about the escape in Kate's car, Dad? It was on the news!" Alexis proclaimed.

Castle looked quickly between his daughter, mother, and Kate. "It…was!?"

"Yes apparently a news helicopter picked it up," Kate said casually. She had been informed of that by the FBI director the prior evening as he was drilling down the list of her offenses. Before that, she had also been unaware of the publicity of that event. Fortunately, it had merely been reported as a car chase on the evening news and it had not even come remotely close to reaching White Bronco caliber.

"Oh well…we did what we had to do, and I was in Kate's very capable hands."

"Now, Kate, you must tell us about yourself. You know so much about us from this investigation, but we are completely in the dark about you," Martha proclaimed.

"Oh well," she said, chuckling lightly, "I'm really not all that exciting. I have a pre-law degree from Stanford. I went to the police academy after graduation and worked my way up to be a Homicide detective. I've only been at the FBI about six months. I, uh, like reading, and street fairs, and jazz music." She concluded with a shrug, not sure what else to say.

"Did you grow up in the city? Do your parents still live here?" Alexis asked.

"Yes, I grew up in Manhattan. Now my dad lives in White Plains; my mother passed away about ten years ago."

The younger girl grimaced. "Oh I'm sorry."

Kate reassured her with a gentle head shake.

For the remainder of the meal, Kate and Castle alternated telling stories about their harrowing adventures during his time as a fugitive. After Alexis presented them with the special cake she'd made for dessert, Castle topped off their wine glasses and pulled Kate with him into his office. They sat together on the loveseat facing one another.

"So how was your day—really?" he asked her after they were alone.

"Actually, it wasn't that great," she informed him. He arched his eyebrows, urging her to continue. "When I arrived this morning, I had to be escorted in by Banner, who was practically gloating, and then I had to go through the whole story of everything that happened again."

"Did you tell them the truth? About everything?"

She confirmed with a head nod. "Yes, plus something I never told you."

He set his glass down and gazed at her curiously.

Kate stared down into her wine glass as she spoke. "I was worried that once you arrived at the tombs in central booking you wouldn't get out. If someone really went to the trouble of framing you, they could have easily had you killed there." She turned her gaze towards him and saw his complexion had paled notably. "I never wanted you to worry about it, so I never told you."

Castle sat still for a moment then grabbed his wine glass and took a large gulp, his brain swimming with the possibilities that story held. "I never thought of that," he confessed, "but you're totally right. You really did save my life."

"No, I was just doing my-" He cut her off by reaching his hand out, grabbing the base of her neck and pulling in for two quick kisses. When she pulled back, she was wearing a soft smile, which faded quickly as her tale continued.

"After that I had to go and speak with Mrs. Ciardi." Castle gave her an unpleasant expression and she sighed. "Yeah, it wasn't that great."

"What did she say?"

"She just wanted to thank me for what I'd done, and I told her it wasn't just me, but you and Tony. Without the three of us, this case would never have been solved."

Castle nodded and took a sip of wine. "Did you tell her about Anthony Senior? The truth about the circumstances surrounding his death?"

Kate picked at some invisible lint on her jeans for a moment before responding. "No. I…creatively avoided telling her the truth. I just…I just didn't see the point. What's done is done. Anthony is gone and he's not coming back. His killer is being brought to justice. What's the point of destroying a widow's memory of her husband when it won't change anything?" She stared at him for a moment, trying to read his expression. When she couldn't, she asked, "Do you think that's wrong?"

"No," he replied immediately. "Actually, I think it was very kind."

She thanked him softly and then turned his question back on him, asking how his day really was.

"Well, I really did have a bunch of phony phone calls from people insisting they knew I was innocent the whole time, but actually I spent most of the day thinking about my book and whether or not I should really publish it."

Kate sat up straighter on the couch and leaned towards him. "Why? Why wouldn't you publish?"

"Because the book was inspired by Tony's life and…I dunno, it just doesn't seem right." He sighed, swirled his wine glass and took another sip. "When we were going through all our theories about Tony's father I got the idea for _Crossroads_. I wanted to use the premise that a cop character discovers that his father's suicide wasn't really a suicide, but a mob hit and he tries to put the mobsters away. But now…I dunno. Finding out the truth about Anthony Senior sullies it somehow."

She thought for a moment about what he'd said. "What did Tony think of the book?"

"Oh," Castle smiled, "he was excited about it. He was totally thrilled that there would be a book character about his life, even if no one technically knew it was about him."

Kate nodded. "Then I think you should publish—in Tony's memory."

"Yeah, but I think I need to change the ending," he decided. She looked at him curiously. He set down his wine glass, leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. "See, in the story, Chance was going to realize his father was murdered by the same mobsters who had plagued the city for years, but no one had ever been able to nail them on anything. At the end of the story, Chance was going to get one of the mobsters to more or less confess, except there's no evidence to arrest him on, so he gets away. I wanted to leave it open so that if the character was well received I could make it a series, like Derrick Storm. I think now the only way I'll publish is if I make it a one-shot and have Chance bring his father's killer to justice." He turned his eyes to her. "What do you think?"

She leaned forward and placed one of her hands on his forearms. "I think it's your book and you need to be happy with it, so do whatever you feel is best."

Castle nodded and thought for a moment. "Yeah…yeah that's what I'll do. That's the only way I can write it in Tony's memory—if I solve the case in the book, just like we did it in real life."

"Sounds great." Kate smiled at him. "I can't wait to read it."

"Well you," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards him. She let out a little squeal as she slid into his lap, facing him "Will be the first person to read it when it's done."

"Really?"

"Absolutely," he said, bringing his lips to hers.

Kate leaned back and smiled down at him after their kiss. In doing so, she caught a glimpse of the far corner of his office. There, tucked beside a stack of books and a light saber, was a life-sized cardboard cutout of Castle holding up a copy of _Storm Fall_, the final Derrick Storm novel. Though she consciously knew he was a writer, it did not occur to her until that moment that she was actually sitting on the lap of _the_ Richard Castle, world renowned author.

"What?" Castle asked, noticing her vacant expression. "Something wrong?"

"Wha—uh, no," she said quickly, turning back to him with a slightly embarrassed smile. "I just, uh, had a moment."

"A moment?"

"Yeah, a 'wow a famous author is kissing me' moment," she confessed.

He chuckled. "You're just having that moment now?"

"Yeah, well, you're staring at me from the corner there so…"

Castle craned his head to see what she was talking about and nodded. "Ah. Forgot I was back there."

Tucking a few strands of hair behind her ears she said, "Yeah, well you are."

"Well, Ms. Beckett," Castle said, standing and bringing Kate with him. He slid a hand under her thighs and scooped her up in his arms. "You'd better prepare yourself, because in about two minutes this famous author is going to be doing a lot more than kissing you."

"Is that so?" she asked as he began carrying her to the bedroom.

"It is."

She traced her finger across his jawline and asked, "And what will these things be?"

He wickedly wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Oh I think I'm just going to have to show you."

And then he did.

-Fin-

* * *

_A/N: First and foremost, I need to thank all of you for reading and for all of the reviews you have given me._

_I positively loved writing this fic. The case/mystery element were completely out of my comfort zone at first, but I enjoyed it much more than I ever expected to. In the end, it became one of the stories I am most proud of, and the fact that I received so many overwhelmingly positive reviews from all of you really means more than I could ever say. _

_As I mentioned before, there is a sequel. It's called "Not a Bad Thing" and I will post it next weekend._

_Again, thank you all so much for reading and reviewing!_


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